THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 
IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 
IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY 


BY 

HARRIOTT  ELY  FANSLER,  PH.D. 

ASSISTANT  PROFESSOR  OF  ENGLISH 
UNIVERSITY  OF  THE   PHILIPPINES. 


CHICAGO    -       -      -      NEW  YORK 
ROW,  PETERSON  AND  COMPANY 


Copyright,   1914, 
HARRIOTT  ELY  FANSLER 


Co  p  X 


To 

My  most  helpful  critic  and 
friend 

Ashley  Horace  Thorndike,  Ph.D.,  L.H.D. 

An     inspirer     of    students 
A    leader    among    scholars 

A  Gentleman 

Of  broad  judgment 
Of  high  and  exacting  ideals 
Of    unfailing    patience    with 
All  who  aim  at  honest  work 


Prefatory  Note 

I  wish  to  recognize  my  debt  to  members  of  the  Faculty 
of  the  Department  of  English  and  Comparative  Literature 
of  Columbia  University  for  suggestions  on  the  manuscript 
of  this  thesis;  to  Professor  George  Philip  Krapp  and  Pro- 
fessor Harry  Morgan  Ayers,  who  read  the  earlier  chapters, 
and  to  Dr.  Earnest  Hunter  Wright,  who  read  the  proof  of 
all  but  the  last,  making  comments  here  and  there,  especially 
on  the  phraseology.  I  have  tried  to  express  what  I  owe  to 
Professor  Ashley  Horace  Thorndike  by  dedicating  the  book 
to  him,  under  whose  inspiration  and  stimulating  criticism  it 
was  written. 

The  bibliographical  list  appended  is  of  necessity  brief,  and 
of  necessity  consists  only  of  names  of  texts  and  of  general 
books  of  reference,  since  the  direction  of  the  investigation 
is  new.  I  have  attempted  to  deal  with  phenomena  at  first 
hand.  There  is  one  treatise,  however,  that  could  not  but 
have  had  influence  on  my  deductions,  since  it  has  long  been 
a  standard  and  is  practically  the  only  exhaustive  study  of 
the  general  subject  of  dramatic  structure,  namely,  Prey  tag's 
Die  Technik  des  Dramas.  Though  I  differ  materially  from 
it  in  the  analysis  of  Shakespeare's  plays,  I  gladly  admit 
whatever  obligation  there  may  be. 

— Harriott  Ely  Pansier. 


Table  of  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

Introduction I 

I.    Tragic   Situations       7 

II.    The  Catastrophe 35 

III.  The  Motive,  or  Impelling  Idea 43 

IV.  The  Protagonist ^l 

V.    The  Antagonist  and  the  Action 8$ 

VI.    The  Rise  and  the  Crises-Emphasis  including  the  Tragic 

Incident       115 

VII.    The  Crisis,  the  Climax,  and  the  Arrest  of  the  Catas- 
trophe       135 

VIII.    Unity,  the  Exciting  Force,  and  the  Exposition     .    .    .  154 

IX.    Unity,  the  Return  Action,  and  the  Underplot    ....  183 

X.    The  Outer  and  Inner  Action,  Theatrical   Devices   and 

Special  Scenes 200 

XI.    The  Philosophic  Idea  and  Climax  in  Falling  Action  .    .  225 

XII.     Structure 254 

Bibliography       279 


Introduction 

We  shall  attempt  to  trace  in  this  study  the  coming  into 
existence  of  a  technic  in  Elizabethan  tragedy,  an  evolution 
that  best  demonstrates  itself  in  Shakespeare's  plays.  We 
shall  therefore  be  concerned  for  the  most  part  with  him; 
but,  in  preparation  for  him,  with  the  plays  immediately  pre- 
ceding and  with  the  elements  handed  down  from  the  Middle 
Ages.  What  we  shall  need  to  inquire  into  will  not  be  the 
make-up  of  any  one  tragedy  in  itself,  but  in  its  relation  to 
other  tragedies,  and  for  the  evidence  it  gives  of  an  advanc- 
ing technic — the  employment  by  its  author  of  points  of 
structure  that  critics  nowadays  consider  essential  to  a  well- 
built  tragedy. 

An  inquiry  into  the  technic  of  tragedy  at  any  time  resolves 
itself  fundamentally  into  an  inquiry  concerning  the  atten- 
tion of  audiences  and  dramatists  to  parts  of  the  play.  If 
we  know  what  an  audience  wants  in  a  particular  place 
and  period,  we  can  almost  certainly  tell  what  the  dramatist 
will  give  it.  The  relationship  is  obviously  reciprocal.  Like^ 
wise,  if  we  know  what  a  people  has  had  repeatedly,  we  may 
know  what  it  has  wanted.  For  instance,  by  studying  the 
structure  of  dramas  that  have  from  time  to  time  pleased 
the  English  people,  we  should  be  in  a  fair  way  to  find  out 
the  English  people's  idea  of  what  drama  is,  and  what  that 
idea  has  forced  on  the  makers  in  the  building  up  of  their 

I 


2  7NTRODUCTION 

pieces.  And  that  is  what  we  are  seeking  to  discover  in  this 
study:  not  what  the  critics  have  said  that  tragedies  ought 
to  be,  but  what  tragedies  have  been.  What  the  English- 
speaking  people  has  demanded,  that  it  will  continue  to 
demand  in  a  greater  or  less  degree ;  for  a  specific  dramatic 
pleasure,  like  any  other  pleasure  when  once  enjoyed  by  a 
large  body  of  people,  is  not  willingly  foregone.  It  is 
demanded  in  repetition  or  in  essence,  in  fact  or  in  interpre- 
tation, in  strict  continuity  or  at  intervals  thereafter. 

The  present  day  gives  evidence  that  we  are  coming  to  a 
new  age  of  tragedy,  but  in  some  ways  it  will  be  very  much 
like  the  Elizabethan.  It  will  not  care  for  sentimentality. 
The  greatest  modern  drama  with  its  horrifying  catastro- 
phe is  in  direct  line  with  the  Elizabethan-Senecan-revenge- 
motive  plays.  Ibsen's  "Ghosts"  is  but  a  more  refined 
serving-up  of  Thyestes's  children.  "Ghosts"  is  a  scientific 
play,  but  its  tenet  is  still  an  "eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth  for 
a  tooth."  The  drama  of  our  age  is  nearer  the  Elizabethan 
than  any  other  just  because  we  recognize  facts.  We  may 
be  subjective  and  the  wits  of  the  Mermaid  may  have  been 
in  many  cases  entirely  objective,  but  together  we  and  they 
are  concerned  with  the  same  overwhelming  phenomenon — 
the  significance  and  fulness  of  life.  "Ghosts"  is  evidence 
in  this  contention.  Our  future  tragedy  may  develop  in 
opposition  to  the  Elizabethan,  but  it  will  not  necessarily 
therefore  be  entirely  different,  despite  the  seeming  paradox. 

This  statement,  like  many  other  general  statements,  will 
be  seen  to  be  true  if  one  only  give  it  a  wide  enough  applica- 
tion. Shakespearean  tragedy  came  to  take  in  the  essentials 
of  Greek  tragedy  with  all  the  additions  of  Elizabethan  tech- 


INTRODUCTION  3 

nic :  the  word  "Lear"  summed  up  the  ages.  The  statement 
will  be  seen  to  be  true  likewise,  if  one  only  give  it  a  narrow 
enough  application:  the  remarkable  popularity  of  "Hamlet" 
on  the  stage  today  attests  the  fact  that  the  ordinary  play- 
goer enjoys  to  the  full  what  sophisticated  persons  call  the 
crudest  as  well  as  what  they  call  the  finest  of  Elizabethan 
pleasures — the  thrill  occasioned  by  stage  supernaturalism 
and  the  quiet  glow  of  participation  in  contemplative  philoso- 
phizing. 

The  term  evolution,  signifying  gradual  modification  and 
differentiation,  would  very  well  express  the  history  of  Eng- 
lish tragedy,  as  it  would  very  well  express  the  history  of 
any  other  type  of  literature,  if  only  the  terms  "type"  and 
"evolution"  were  not  so  misleading  as  they  are;  if  critics 
themselves  did  not  forget  that  when  they  so  speak  they  are 
dealing  with  abstractions,  with  ideas,  with  the  evolution  of 
concepts.  Now,  a  man's  idea  of  tragedy  may  grow,  a 
nation's  idea  may  grow  according  to  the  number  of  trag- 
edies it  witnesses,  yet  each  individual  play  that  has  helped 
to  make  up  that  idea  remains  unchanged,  and  is  a  particular 
phenomenon  insusceptible  of  variation  when  once  abandoned 
by  its  author.  If  a  man  consider  three  plays  and  assert  that 
the  third  is  not  a  tragedy,  he  must  admit,  unless  the  first  two 
plays  are  exactly  alike,  that  he  has  brought  into  the  decision 
a  fourth  element — his  ideal  tragedy,  or  his  idea  of  tragedy. 
Whether  he  got  it  by  reading  criticisms  and  imported  it  as  a 
wooden  measuring  rod,  or  whether  he  originated  it  out  of 
his  own  judgments  upon  similars  and  dissimilars  in  the 
plays  before  him,  it  is  yet  a  fourth  factor  in  the  decision; 
and,  though  it  is  potent  for  the  future,  it  is  purely  mental. 


4  INTRODUCTION 

This  idea  does  not  afifect  the  three  finished  plays  a  whit: 
they  remain  exactly  what  they  were,  particular  phenomena. 
But  if  the  critic  be  also  a  playwright,  this  new  idea  at  which 
he  has  arrived  affects  his  next  production ;  and,  if  this  same 
idea  as  to  what  is  and  what  is  not  tragedy  gets  abroad 
thoroughly  among  a  people,  the  conception  is  accompanied 
with  a  good  many  particular  tragedies  somewhat  like  the 
first  two  plays  from  which  the  critic  got  his  standard. 

The  critic  and  the  public  must  both  admit  that  the 
measuring  rod  is  mental.  If  they  do  not,  they  get  into  the 
futile  argument  as  to  whether  or  not  types  exist,  as  to 
whether  or  not  "Macbeth"  is  ''perfect"  tragedy;  forgetting 
that  a  type,  whatever  its  characteristics,  is  a  generic  and 
purely  idealistic  thing,  existing  nowhere  outside  the  mind. 
As  soon  as  a  play  is  created,  it  is  a  particular  phenomenon, 
to  be  dealt  with  mainly  as  such.  It  is  worse  than  futile, 
therefore,  it  is  a  confession  of  ignorance,  to  call  upon  a 
critic  to  point  out  in  actual  existence  his  ideal  tragedy,  to 
presume  that  he  can  be  taunted  with  the  fact  that  no  two 
plays  are  exactly  alike.  If  they  were,  they  would  not  be 
two,  but  one — to  use  a  philosophical  Hibernicism — and  we 
should  not  then  think  of  a  type.  I  might  almost  have  said, 
we  should  not  then  think;  for  thinking  is  typing  (if  I  may 
coin  an  expression),  and,  although  a  natural  process,  is  not 
necessarily  therefore  an  easy  one.  But  if  English  tragedy 
itself  be  an  abstraction,  what  about  the  technic  of  English 
tragedy  ?  I  leave  that  delectable  suggestion  to  those  who  do 
not  believe  in  types.    I  turn  instead  to  a  confession  of  faith. 

I  believe  that  there  is  such  an  intellectual  thing  as  the 
technic  of  tragedy,  and  that  it  can  be  understood  aside  from 


INTRODUCTION  5 

the  plays  from  which  it  is  abstracted ;  and  that  one  may 
appreciate  technic  who  can  not  write  a  play ;  and  that  often 
those  who  wrote  plays  (Marlowe  and  Shakespeare)  did  not 
fully  appreciate  their  own  technic ;  and  that  one  who  under- 
stands technic  can  write  a  fairly  acceptable  play  (Bulwer 
Lytton's  "Richelieu")  though  he  have  not  more  than  one 
spark  of  genius  in  him ;  and  that  a  great  genius  may  fail  to 
write  an  acceptable  play  (Wordsworth  and  Coleridge)  be- 
cause he  ignores  dramatic  necessities ;  and  that  the  mightiest 
dramatic  genius  (Robert  Browning)  may  fail  to  arrive  at 
being  the  author  of  a  series  of  great  plays  because  of  the 
incapability  of  his  times  to  furnish  him  discipline. 

Yet,  though  abstraction  is  both  natural  and  permissible — 
since  a  dream  that  we  all  dream  together  is  no  dream — I 
prefer  to  treat  the  subject  of  technic  as  concretely  as  pos- 
sible. I  want  to  stay  as  close  to  the  history  of  English 
tragedy  as  may  be,  and  to  follow,  if  I  can,  the  progress  of 
the  Elizabethan  playwrights  from  emphasis  to  emphasis  in 
the  structure  of  their  pieces,  until  the  reader  of  this  book 
has,  if  together  we  can  evoke  it,  a  somewhat  complete  idea 
of  the  by  no  means  simple  architectonics  of  English  tragedy. 

It  is  obvious  to  even  the  most  unthinking  play-goer  that 
there  are  a  number  of  points  of  structure  that  the  public 
today  considers  essential  to  all  serious  drama,  especially  to 
tragedy.  We  demand  some  striking  and  memorable  scenes, 
and  one  particularly  strong  situation  toward  which  the 
whole  action  tends.  We  ask  for  a  clear  dramatic  motive, 
and  distinct  personalities,  who  informingly  characterize 
themselves  by  their  deeds.  We  expect  one  of  the  deeds  to 
be   a   destiny-determiner   for   the  chief   contestant   in   the 


6  INTRODUCTION 

tragic  struggle — to  be,  as  it  were,  inevitable  and  yet  to  be 
of  such  a  nature  that  the  contestant  need  not  have  done  it 
if  he  had  not  so  willed.  We  like  to  recognize  the  point 
where  he  begins  to  think  of  this  deed  as  possible,  or  where 
circumstances  begin  to  close  in  around  him  so  as  to  induce 
the  frame  of  mind  that  brings  the  deed.  We  like  to  recog- 
nize his  chief  opponent  also  and  to  witness  the  success  or 
failure  of  the  one  or  the  other  or  both  at  the  end  of  the 
play.  And  finally,  we  want  the  whole  struggle  to  mean 
something. 

How  these  demands  have  come  about  in  English  tragedy 
and  what  significance  they  bear  structurally  it  is  now  our 
pleasure  to  inquire.  We  shall  proceed  so  far  as  possible 
chronologically,  with  a  glance  forward  or  back,  as  the  case 
may  demand,  for  enlightenment  by  comparisons.  We  shall 
try  in  each  chapter  to  take  a  forward  step,  studying  the 
new  dramatic  point  or  the  advanced  emphasis  with  some 
exclusiveness.  We  shall  remember  the  while,  however,  that 
after  the  attainment  of  an  excellence,  not  all  the  dramatists 
moved  forward;  in  fact,  that  many  remained  behind  or 
reverted,  and,  moreover,  that,  although  we  can  study  but 
one  point  of  structure  at  a  time,  others  may  be  present  in 
the  tragedy  under  consideration  either  as  inheritances  from 
the  past  or  as  foreshadowings  of  the  future.  But  what  we 
are  tracing  here  is  the  consciousness  of  the  points.  The 
reader  must  not  be  disturbed  because  we  seem  to  move  for- 
ward backwards.  That  is  the  way  the  Elizabethans  moved — 
with  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  catastrophe. 


The  Evolution  of  Technic  in 
Elizabethan  Tragedy 

Chapter  I 
Tragic  Situations 

In  our  study  of  the  origin  and  development  of  technic 
in  English  tragedy,  as  for  as  its  culmination  in  Shakespeare, 
we  shall  naturally  have  much  to  do  with  the  early  Eliza- 
bethan drama;  but  before  we  enter  upon  that  complex 
material,  it  is  proper  to  stop  to  ask:  "What  were  the 
inheritances  from  the  past?"  What  did  the  Elizabethans 
start  with  ?  We  know  that  they  demanded  in  most  of  their 
plays  good  story  and  striking  situations.  Where  had  they 
become  accustomed  to  these?  The  answer  is  easy.  If  not 
elsewhere,  surely  in  the  miracle  cycles  and  the  moralities  of 
the  preceding  three  centuries. 

The  most  original  fact  about  the  religious  plays  in  Eng- 
land was  their  combination  into  collective  series.  This 
idea  of  completeness  in  the  history  of  man,  of  a  collective 
mystery  from  Creation  to  Doomsday,  was  a  contribution  of 
the  English  mind.  It  was  a  magnificent  conception,  in 
fine  keeping  with  the  sublimity  of  the  subject;  but  dra- 
matically, of  course,  it  was  destined  to  failure.  The  pres- 
entation of  the  individual  plays  as  moving  pageants  tended 

7 


8  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

toward  fragmentary  effect,  and  the  succession  of  different 
sets  of  performers  all  but  totally  dissipated  the  central  idea 
of  unity.  Hence  the  introduction  of  trivial  incidents  and 
adventitious  characters.  Hence  also  the  fixing  of  attention 
on  situation.  The  fact  that  the  personages  of  the  morali- 
ties were  abstractions  tended  to  the  same  result.  The  spec- 
tator was  not  solicitous  about  the  general  effect  of  the  whole 
play,  but  only  desirous  that  the  incidents  be  stirring  and  the 
action  vivid. 

That  much  of  the  popular  expansion  of  the  Biblical  nar- 
ratives tended  to  the  comic  is  undisputed ;  but  the  question 
is,  just  how  much?  Whether  a  given  incident  was  meant  to 
be  comic  or  merely  realistic  is  hard  at  the  present  day  to 
prove.  Just  where,  for  the  fifteenth  century  audience,  did 
the  ranting  of  Herod,  for  instance,  or  the  actions  of  the 
torturers  of  Jesus  on  the  way  to  the  crucifixion  pass  from 
the  tragic  to  the  comic  ?  The  assertion  has  been  made  that 
these  were  meant  for  comic  elements.  May  they  not  have 
been  seriously  intended  altogether  for  tragic?^ 

It  has  been  said  that  there  is  no  tragedy  in  the  liturgical 
drama,  since  there  was  no  tragic  intention.  All  was  to  end 
happily.  The  serious  situations  are  at  best  only  pathetic. 
In  a  large  sense  this  judgment  is  true  also  of  the  popular 
miracle  cycles ;  for  after  the  "Crucifixion"  comes  the  ''Res- 
urrection." Even  in  the  "Slaughter  of  the  Innocents"  the 
one  in  whom  we  are  interested  escapes ;  while  in  the 
"Doomsday"  it  is  only  the  wicked  who  are  punished.  But, 
as  said  before,  the  effect  of  the  cycles  was  almost  of  neces- 

*  I  have  seen  the  Passion  Play  acted  in  the  Philippines  with  the 
same  popular  expansion,  but  none  of  the  incidents  were  received 
as  comic,  though  there  was  much  ranting  in  delivery. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  9 

sity  fragmentary,  and  the  individual  pageants  were  enjoyed 
separate.  Hence  one  set  of  incidents  might  be  comic  and 
another  tragic  without  incongruity.  Indeed,  we  need  not 
look  for  congTuity  in  the  early  religious  plays,  when  it  was 
not  until  the  second  half  of  the  seventeenth  century  that 
comedy  was  deliberately  excluded  from  high  tragedy.  More- 
over, that  the  audience  of  the  miracle  plays  did  not  take 
such  or  such  a  situation  as  funny,  one  would  be  slow  to 
say,  especially  after  an  experience  at  a  New  York  theater 
during  a  Sothern-Marlowe  presentation  of  "Twelfth  Night," 
when  the  episode  of  Sebastian's  reception  by  Olivia  (which 
was  meant  apparently  to  be  serious  comedy)  was  turned 
into  farce  both  by  the  actors  and  the  audience. 

In  general  the  miracle  situations  appear  to  have  been 
arranged  with  serious  intent  by  their  authors,  and  to  have 
been  received  so  by  the  onlookers.  What  by  some  persons 
might  be  considered  as  artistically  ideal  tragedy  and  what 
through  the  ages  has  been  accepted  as  tragedy,  may  be  two 
quite  diflferent  things.  An  analysis  of  the  early  church 
drama  certainly  reveals  many  of  the  elements  of  later 
accepted  tragedy— motives  such  as  pride,  tyranny,  and 
revenge ;  characteristic  personages,  such  as  evil  spirits  and 
tyrants,  pathetic  children  and  heartbroken  mothers.  Satan 
and  Herod  look  toward  Tamburlaine,  Faustus,  and  Macbeth 
not  only  in  roles,  but  often  in  content  of  speeches.  Note  in 
the  "Massacre  of  the  Innocents"  of  the  York  cycle  how 
Herod  vents  his  anger  on  the  messenger  of  bad  news  as 
Macbeth  vents  his: 

Herod. — "Fy !  on  J?e,  ladde,  J?ou  lyes ! 


10  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Herod. — "Thou  lyes  false  traytoure  strange, 
Loke  nevere  )?ou  negh  me  nere 
Upon  liffe  and  lyme 
May  I  that  traitour  fange 
Full  high  I  shall  gar  him  hunge 
Both  )?e  harlott  and  hym." 

Herod's  situation  at  the  escape  of  Jesus  is  much  like  Mac- 
beth's  at  the  escape  of  Fleance : 

Herod. — "So  may  ]?at  boy  fladde, 

For  in  waste  have  ye  wrought; 
Or  that  same  ladde  be  sought 
Shall  I  never  byde  in  bedde." 

In  the  "Coming  of  the  Three  Kings"  in  the  York  and 
Chester  cycles,  Herod  is  like  Tamburlaine,  ranting  and 
bragging,  in  terrific  terms.  In  the  Towneley  and  Coventry 
''Oblacio  Magorum"  and  the  "Adoration  of  the  Magi,"  he 
is  like  Macbeth  again,  disturbed  about  "the  boy"  that  shall 
push  him  from  his  throne.  In  the  one  Herod  bewails  his 
fate  as  Macbeth  bewails  his  at  times : 

Herod. — "Alas,  that  ever  I  suld  be  knyght, 
Or  holdyn  man  of  mekylle  myght, 
If  a  lad  shuld  reyfe  me  my  ryght, 
Alle  thus  me  fro." 

In  the  other  with  a  false  show  of  confidence  like  Mac- 
beth's  "What's  the  boy  Malcolm!  Was  he  not  born  of 
woman?"  Herod  tries  to  brave  the  thing  out: 

Herod. — "A  fy,  fy,  on  talys  that  I  have  been  tolde. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  U 

How  Xulde  a  barn  wax  so  bolde 

Be  bestys  yf  he  born  be  ? 
He  is  young  and  I  am  olde, 

An  hardy  kyng  of  hye  degre  I" 

Eve,  in  the  York  play,  is  a  good  tragic  character.  After 
Adam's  cowardly  babblings  her  dignified  acceptance  of  the 
results  of  her  wrong-doing,  reminds  us  of  Lady  Macbeth's 
high-headed  and  quiet-mouthed  dying: 

"Be  still,  Adam,  and  namen  it  na  mere 

it  may  not  mend. 
For  wel  I  wate  I  have  done  wrange, 
Alas ;  the  whille  I  leve  so  lange, 

dede  wolde  I  be!" 

In  the  Coventry  play,  it  is  Adam  who  is  heroic.    He  makes 
a  fine  speech: 

"Lave  woman,  turn  thi  thought  .  .  . 
•         •         *         •         • 
Let  us  walk  forth  into  the  londe 

With  ryth  gret  labour  oure  f ode  to  finde, 
With  delvying  and  dyggyng  with  myn  hand 
Our  blysse  to  bale  and  care  to-pynde." 

In  the  Chester  cycle  both  Adam  and  Eve  are  cowards. 

Not  a  few  of  the  mystery  scenes  in  their  make-up  and 
stage  business  also  curiously  anticipate  later  ones.  Com- 
pare, for  instance,  the  journey  to  Calvary  with  its  weeping 
women,  disciples,  and  the  folk  come  out  to  see,  with  Richard 
Second's  progress  to  the  tower.  Compare  the  horrible 
realism  of  the  Crucifixion  with  Edward  Second's  torture; 
or  the  appearance  of  Death  at  Herod's  revel  with  that  of 


12  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Banquo's  ghost  at  Macbeth's ;  or  Herod's  appropriation  by 
the  demons  with  that  of  Faustus's.  Much  of  all  this  is  im- 
posed by  the  source ;  but  so  is  much  of  the  dramatic  business 
in  later  tragedy. 

Before  we  leave  Herod,  I  cannot  forbear  to  quote  him 
in  what  is  surely  a  tragic  situation  in  the  "Slaughter  of 
the  Innocents"  (Chester)  where  he  discovers  that  the  sol- 
diers in  carrying  out  his  orders  to  the  letter  have  killed 
his  sons.    He  says : 

"He  was  righte  sicker  in  silke  araye, 
In  gold  and  pearle  that  was  so  gaye, 
He  mighte  well  knowe  by  his  araye, 
He  was  a  kinges  sonne."  .  .  . 

And  the  stricken  father  cries  out  to  the  woman  attendant: 

"Could  thou  not  speake,  could  thou  not  praie, 
And  saie  it  was  my  sonne?" 

It  was  a  bold  hand  like  Marlowe's  or  Kyd's  that  drew 
the  character  of  Cain  in  the  "Mactatio  Abel"  of  the  Towne- 
ley  cycle.  Cain  is  depicted  as  a  virile,  coarse  pessimist  and 
rebel,  and  his  deed  of  murder  is  well  motived.  A  not  unim- 
pressive scene  is  that  where  he  counts  out  the  poorer  sheaves 
one  by  one.  In  this  play,  too,  as  Abel  dies  he  calls  for 
vengeance  like  later  brothers  and  fathers  in  English  tragedy. 
I  do  not  mean  to  intimate  that  this  is  the  source  of  the 
Elizabethan  revenge  motive,  but  it  is  interesting  to  notice 
an  early  emphasis  here  before  the  Senecan  influence  came 
into  England.  A  stage-horror  device  that  we  are  likely 
to  accord  wholly  to  later  developed  Senecan  tragedy  (we 
\  have  it  even  in  "Hamlet")  is  found  here  likewise — namely, 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  13 

the  dragging  of  the  dead  body  about  on  the  stage.  Cain 
finds  it  difficult  to  hide  his  brother's  corpse.  That  this  con- 
ception was  not  necessarily  suggested  by  the  source  is  testi- 
fied to  by  the  fact  that  it  is  absent  from  the  same  play  in  the 
other  three  cycles.  There  are  a  few  laments  in  those  but  we 
find  no  other  tragic  treatment.  -<^  , 

The  Towneley  "Abraham"  and  the  Digby  "Magdalene" 
surely  are  examples  of  liberal  handling.  Let  us  look  at  them 
somewhat  closely;  then  take  up  the  "Remorse  of  Judas," 
which  yields  the  most  tragic  situation  of  all  the  church 
plays;  and,  finally,  after  noting  realistic  scenes  in  the 
"Crucifixion,"  pass  on  to  the  Moralities. 

Abraham  and  Isaac.  When  one  speaks  of  tragedy  in  the 
mysteries,  the  play  that  comes  first  to  mind  is  probably  the 
"Abraham  and  Isaac" ;  but  this  in  all  the  versions  is  rather 
pathetic  than  highly  tragic  except  perhaps  in  the  York.  The 
Coventry  version  opens  rather  prettily  with  a  scene  revealing 
the  love  between  father  and  son.  Abraham  exults  over  God's  X 
goodness  to  him,  especially  in  giving  him  Isaac,  whom  he 
loves  most  dearly.  He  kisses  the  boy  and  warns  him  always 
to  obey  God.  The  boy  prays  a  blessing  on  the  father  in  re- 
turn. Then  Abraham  utters  praise  once  more  for  his  son 
and  asserts  that  "no  man  loves  bettyr  his  childe  than  Isaac 
is  loved  of  me."  The  climax  is  well  prepared  for  by  the 
emphasis  on  this  love  and  by  Abraham's  announcement  that 
he  will  always  obey  his  God,  whatever  the  commandment. 
Then  comes  the  commandment.  This  emphasis  of  doctrine 
suggests  ecclesiastical  handling.  The  father,  although  he  is 
loth  to  kill  the  son,  never  hesitates.  The  child,  too,  is  willing 
and  anxious  to  be  sacrificed.  ,  There  is  a  fine  natural  touch, 


14  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

however,  in  a  speech  of  Isaac's  as  he  and  Abraham  go  up 

the  hill: 

"Ffayr  fadyr,  ze  go  right  stylle, 
I  pray  zou,  fadyr,  speke  onto  me." 

The  York  and  Chester  versions  likewise  show  ecclesiasti- 
cal influence.  The  Towneley  version  is  much  more  simple, 
hence  much  more  impressive.  The  child  is  a  natural  child, 
speaks  like  one.  He  is  naive  and  sweet,  and  when  he  finds 
that  his  father  means  to  kill  him,  he  is  frightened.  The 
author  of  the  Towneley  play  knew  children  at  first  hand, 
and  fathers  too.  His  Isaac  is  a  typical  child,  not  a  typical 
Isaac.    We  are  charmed  with  the  lad's  first  words : 

Abraham. — Isaac,  son,  where  art  thou? 

Isaac. — Alle  redy,  fader,  lo  me  here ; 

Now  was  I  cumying  unto  you ; 
I  luf  you  mekille,  fader  dere. 

Abraham. — And  dos  thou  so?    I  wold  wit  how 

Lufes  thou  me,  son,  as  thou  has  saide. 

Isaac. — Yei,  fader,  with  alle  myn  hart. 

More  than  alle  that  ever  was  maide; 
God  hold  me  long  your  life  in  quart. 

Another  excellent  touch  that  reveals  the  author's  under- 
standing of  human  nature  comes  in  the  father's  falsehood 
to  his  son  or  what  must  have  seemed  to  Abraham  a  direct 
deception  when  he  uttered  it.  He  has  told  Isaac  to  be  ready, 
and  Isaac  announces  that  he  is  now  and  always  ready  to 
do  his  father's  bidding.  In  his  perturbation  Abraham 
says: 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  15 

"My  dere  son,  look  thou  have  no  dred, 
We  shall  come  home  with  grete  lovyng, 
Both  to  and  fro,  I  shal  us  lede, 
Com  now,  son,  in  my  blyssing." 

This  scene  calls  to  mind  that  of  Caratach  and  little  Hengo 
in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "Bonduca,"  where  the  rugged 
old  soldier  stoutly  asserts  exact  knowledge  of  "the  blessedest 
place,"  to  which  the  poor  little  weary  and  starving  child 
must  go. 

As  I  say,  the  Towneley  author  was  interested  in  his 
characters  as  such.  Ecclesiasticism  is  forgotten  in  the 
pathos  of  the  situation.  Notice  the  absolute  childlikeness 
in  the  appeal  and  notice  the  sweetness  of  the  boy's  dis- 
position : 

Isaac. — Fader ! 
Abraham. — What,  son? 

Isaac. — Think  on  thi  get, 

What  have  I  done  ? 

Abraham. — Truly,  none  ille. 

Isaac. — And  shall  be  slayn  ? 
Abraham. — So  have  I  het. 

Isaac. — Sir,  what  may  help  ? 
Abraham. — Certes,  no  skille. 

Isaac. — I  ask  mercy. 
Abraham. — That  may  not  let. 

Isaac. — When  I  am  dede,  and  closed  in  clay. 
Who  shall  then  be  your  son? 

Abraham. — A,  Lord,  that  I  shuld  abide  this  day  I 
Isaac. — Sir,  who  shall  do  that  I  was  won? 

Abraham. — Speke  no  siche  wordes,  son,  I  the  pray. 
Isaac. — Shall  ye  me  slo  ? 


16  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Abraham. —  I  trow  I  mon. 

Lyg  stille,  I  smyte. 
Isaac. —  Sir,  let  me  say. 
Abraham. —  Now,  my  dere  child,  thou  may  not  shon. 
Isaac. —  The  shynyng  of  youre  bright  blayde 
It  gars  me  quake  for  ferd  to  dee. 
Abraham. — Ther  for  groflynges  thou  shall  be  layde, 
Then  when  I  striyke  thou  shall  not  se. 
Isaac. —  What  have  I  done,  fader,  what  have  I  saide? 
Abraham. — Truly  no  kuns  ille  to  me. 

Isaac. — And  thus  gyiltles  shalle  be  arrayde? 
Abraham. —  Now,  good  son,  let  siche  words  be, 

Isaac. —  I  luf  you  ay. 
Abraham. —  So  do  I  thee. 

Isaac. —  Fader! 
Abraham. — What,  son.'' 

Isaac. —  Let  now  be  seyn 

For  my  moder  luf. 
Abraham. — Let  be!    Let  be! 

The  poor  old  man  can  stand  the  appeal  no  longer.  He 
makes  the  excuse  that  he  has  forgotten  something  and 
goes  aside  to  weep.  He  says  that  he  would  die  for  the 
child,  and  cries  out  in  his  agony : 

''What  shal  I  to  hys  moder  say?'' 

The  mother-motive  is  found  in  the  Coventry  and  Chester, 
likewise,  and  in  the  Brome  version. 

In  the  York  play,  Isaac  is  thirty  years  old.  The  pathetic 
emphasis  is  consequently  entirely  changed ;  we  are  in  a  sense 
nearer  the  tragic.  Both  father  and  son  appreciate  the 
situation :  we  hear  the  strong  m.an  Isaac,  who  could  easily 
save  himself,  begging  his  father  to  bind  him,  lest  in  the 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  17 

shock  of  the  actual  blow  his  body  revolt.  His  provision  is 
.  the  greatest  bravery. 
^^  Mary  Magdalene,  Aside  from  Christ  and  the  traitor  in 
the  Scripture  narrative,  the  character  with  the  most  dra- 
matic possibilities  is  Mary  Magdalene.  Her  emotional  na- 
ture and  her  devotion  to  the  Saviour  make  her  prominent. 
She  appears  in  all  the  cycles  more  or  less  conspicuously. 
The  most  important  of  all  English  dramatic  treatments  of 
the  story  before  1560,  and  the  first  English  treatment  in 
which  allegorical  machinery  is  employed,  is  the  "Mary  Mag- 
dalene" play  of  the  Digby  Mysteries. 

It  is  in  two  parts:  Part  I,  besides  a  good  deal  about 
Herod  and  Pilate,  covers  the  presentation  of  Mary's  father 
Cyrus  and  his  death  ;  her  seduction  by  Lechery  and  a  gallant ; 
her  repentance  and  wiping  of  Jesus'  feet ;  and  her  brother 
Lazarus'  again-rising.  Part  II  includes  Christ's  appearance 
to  Mary  at  the  Sepulchre ;  her  conversion  of  the  King  and 
Queen  of  Marcylle;  the  feeding  of  her  by  angels  from 
heaven  in  the  wilderness ;  her  death. 

Scenes  8,  9,  10,  11  (Part  I)  trace  her  downfall.  Lechery 
tempts  her  by  flattery  to  leave  home  and  seek  experience 
abroad.  She  bids  good-bye  to  Lazarus  and  Martha,  and 
we  next  find  her  in  a  tavern,  where  occur  very  realistic 
scenes.  She  yields  to  a  smart  gallant  and  is  lost.  The  steps 
are  marked,  (i)  She  calls  him  in,  (2)  lets  him  make  love 
to  her,  (3)  dances  with  him,  (4)  drinks  with  him,  (5)  prom- 
ises to  go  to  the  end  of  the  world  with  him.  Scene  10  is  a 
connecting  scene  and  was,  perhaps,  spectacular.  It  is  in 
Hell.  The  bad  angel  announces  Mary's  fall.  Scene  II  finds 
her  in  an  arbor  singing  to  her  "Valentynes,"  her  "byrd 


18  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

swetyng,"  her  **lovys  dere."  From  this  abandonment  she  is 
awakened  by  the  good  angel,  who  warns  her  to  seek  healing 
for  her  soul,  and  she  accordingly  repents  and  determines 
to  go  to  Christ.  Were  this  not  a  Bible  story,  Mary  might 
be  carried  off  by  the  bad  angels  even  despite  her  repentance, 
as  Faustus  was.  But  Scene  14  presents  her  at  Simon's 
house,  washing  with  her  tears  Christ's  feet  and  drying  them 
with  her  hair,  and  incurring  the  anger  of  Judas  by  breaking 
the  box  of  precious  ointment.  This  scene  is  almost  purely 
tragic  because  of  the  high  seriousness  in  the  tone,  and  be- 
cause of  the  shame  of  the  woman.  Her  brother  Lazarus' 
again-rising  is  preceded,  of  course,  by  the  death  scene,  in 
which  are  the  corpse,  the  wailing  neighbors,  and  the  sorrow- 
ing sisters — incidents  and  elements  all  common  to  later 
tragedy. 

Part  II  contains  in  the  first  division  the  weeping  of  the 
women  at  Christ's  tomb,  the  tragic  consternation  of  Mary 
when  she  finds  the  body  gone,  the  lamenting  of  the  disciples, 
and  the  revelation  to  Mary  of  the  risen  Christ.  The  Digby 
author  has  caught  the  dramatic  simplicity  of  the  Scripture 
narrative  and  gives  but  the  two  words:  "O  Mari!"  The 
tension  once  more  raises  this  scene  near  to  the  tragic. 

Part  II  contains  in  its  second  division  at  least  two  tragic 
situations:  one  for  Mary  and  one  for  the  king. 

(i)  Mary,  the  messenger  of  "good  news"  to  Marcylle, 
sits  in  an  old  lodge  without  the  gate,  hungry,  tired, 
neglected,  ineffectual.  She  has  come  a  long  way  to  convert 
the  king,  and  he  has  seemingly  given  her  more  to  do  than 
she  is  able  to  accomplish,  has  asked  for  a  greater  proof  of 
the  power  of  her  God  than  she  feels  sure  of  manifesting. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  19 

(2)  The  other  situation  has  one  of  the  elements  of  old 
Greek  tragedy.  As  a  condition  of  his  acceptance  of  the  new 
religion  the  king  had  demanded  of  Mary  that  his  wife 
should  bear  him  a  child.  He  gets  the  assurance  of  his 
desire,  and  in  gratitude  sets  out  to  go  to  the  Holy  Land  to 
be  baptized  of  Peter.  Daring  to  bargain  with  the  Supreme 
Power  he  has  forgotten,  however,  his  own  impuissance. 
His  boon  is  attended  with  the  utmost  sorrow :  a  storm  over- 
takes the  ship  on  which  he  has  embarked  with  his  queen, 
and  she  dies  in  premature  child-birth.  Among,  the  rude 
sailors  he  is  alone  with  the  dead  wife  and  the  helpless 
infant.  The  men  insist  that  the  corpse  be  thrown  over- 
board to  allay  the  storm.  He  calls  on  his  new  God.  He 
begs  the  sailors  to  be  merciful.  They  finally  agree  to  place 
the  body  with  the  child  beside  it  on  a  rock  that  rises  up 
nearby  out  of  the  sea.    The  King  says : 

"ly  here,  wyflF,  and  chyld  fe  by. 
blyssyd  maydleyn,  be  hyr  rede ! 
with  terys  wepyng,  and  grett  cause  why, 
I  kyss  you  both  in  J?is  sted. 
Now  woll  I  pray  to  Mary  myld 
to  be  J?er  gyde  her."  (11.  1792- 1797) 

The  ship  then  continues  on  its  way  to  the  Holy  Land. 

The  naive  conception  of  verisimilitude  is  interesting.  How 
the  ship,  in  danger  of  being  dashed  to  pieces  by  the  waves, 
could  stop  at  the  rock  is  not  clear.  A  generous  taking  of 
the  story  as  it  is,  however,  was  surely  as  commendable  at 
that  early  date  as  later,  when  Shakespeare,  in  what  has  been 
called  his  part  of  the  "Pericles"  play,  had  the  very  same 
situation  of  the  weeping  husband  and  father,  the  new-born 


20  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

babe,  and  the  dead  wife  cast  overboard  to  allay  the  storm, 
with  the  added  tax  on  credulity  of  the  later  scene  when  the 
coffin  was  thrown  upon  the  shore  by  the  waves  and  the  wife 
was  brought  to  life  again. 

The  Remx)rse  of  Judas.  The  life  of  Judas  offers  the  best 
opportunity  for  tragedy  in  the  general  conception  of  the 
term :  the  struggling  of  a  soul  through  a  series  of  experi- 
ences that  end  for  him  in  misfortune  and  death.  Catastro- 
phe brought  on  by  one's  own  misdeeds  is  the  essence  of 
tragedy.  We  find  the  York  mysteries  presenting  Judas,  not 
as  we  might  expect  from  later  developments  of  the  miser  in 
the  Barabas  type,  but  as  an  ordinarily  good  man  yielding 
to  a  besetting  sin,  indulgence  in  which  is  followed  by  remorse 
and  a  pitiful,  though  dignified  because  self-imposed,  death. 
Of  course,  the  authors  are  guided  by  the  Scripture  narra- 
tive; but  it  is  interesting  to  note  that  they  seek  a  dramatic 
motive  for  Judas's  treason  in  an  emphasis  of  his  irritation 
over  the  master's  indifference  to  Mary's  extravagance  with 
the  precious  ointment.  This  feeling  is  in  the  Towneley  as 
well  as  in  the  other  cycles. 

-  If  the  authors  had  had  any  conception  of  the  action  of 
a  tragedy,  they  might  readily  enough  have  gathered  up  the 
Judas  incidents  that  are  scattered  through  the  presentation 
of  the  life  of  Christ,  and  have  put  these  into  the  form  of 
an  introduction,  or  the  first  half,  to  what  they  had  already 
written — the  second  half  of  a  real  play.  In  other  words, 
"The  Remorse  of  Judas,"  now  found  embodied  in  the  Cokis 
and  Waterlederer's  mystery  of  the  "Second  Accusation  Be- 
fore Pilate"  in  the  York  cycles,  is  an  actual  part  of  a  possi- 
ble, well-constructed  drama. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  21 

Jesus  has  been  sent  to  Herod,  and  while  Pilate  and  his 
court  wait  the  return  of  the  victim,  Judas  enters,  talking  to 
himself.    He  says: 

"Alas !  for  woo  )?at  I  was  wrought 
Or  evere  I  come  be  kynde  or  kynne, 
I  banne  )?e  bonys  me  furth  brought, 
Woo  worthe  )?e  wombe  )?at  I  bredde  ynne, 
So  may  I  bidde. 
For  I  so  falsely  did  to  hym 

)?at  unto  me  grete  kyndnesse  kidde." 

Then  he  remembers  that  he  may  yet  save  his  Master  and 
friend.  He  goes  up  to  Pilate,  and  the  following  dialogue 
ensues,  in  which  Judas  reaps  the  full  reward  of  his  deed — 
retribution  in  a  sense  more  tragic  than  that  which  befell 
Macbeth.  They  both  have  betrayed  a  kind  friend.  They 
both  know  that  they  must  die  for  the  treachery ;  but  Macbeth, 
because  he  is  overcome  materially ;  Judas,  because  he  is  con- 
quered spiritually.  He  really  loved  his  master,  and,  now 
that  the  spasm  of  cupidity  is  gone,  he  realizes  that  his  own 
heart  is  broken.  There  is  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  hang 
himself;  yet  he  recks  that  fact  but  little.  The  tragedy  for 
him  lies  in  the  realization  that  he  cannot  now  save  his  friend. 

Judas. — My  tydyngis  are  teneful,  I  telle  you, 
Sir  Pilate,  J?erfore  I  you  praye, 
My  Mastir  that  I  gune  selle  you, 

Gode  lorde,  late  hym  wende  on  his  way. 
Kaiph. — May,  nedelyngis,  Judas,  J^at  we  denye. 

What  mynde  or  mater  has  moved  ]?e  ]?us  ? 
Judas. — Sir,  I  have  synned  ful  grevously, 

Betraied  }?at  right-wisse  bloode,  Jesus 
And  master  myne. 


22  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Kaiph. — Bewscher,  what  is  pd.t  till  us, 

J?e  perill  and  J?e  plight  is  thyne. 
Thyne  is  J?e  wronge,  )?ou  wroughte  it, 

)?ou  hight  us  full  trewlye  to  take  hym, 
And  oures  is  ]>e  bargayne,  we  boughte  it, 

Loo !  we  are  alle  sente  for  to  slee  hym. 

Judas. — Alias !  }?at  may  me  rewe  full  ill, 
Giff e  ye  assente  hym  for  to  slaa. 

Pilate. — Why,  what  wolde  J?ou  at  we  did  J?er-till  ? 

Judas. — I  praie  you  good  lorde,  late  hym  gaa, 

And  here  is  of  me  youre  paymente  playne. 

Kaiph. — Naie,  we  will  noght  so, 

We  bought  hym  for  he  schulde  be  slayne ; 
To  slee  hym  ]>i  selffe  J?ou  assent  it. 

]?is  wate  J?ou  wondirly  wele. 
What  right  is  nowe  to  repente  it, 

fou  schapist  )?i  selffe  un-seele. 

None  of  them  will  listen  to  Judas ;  they  tell  him  to  walk 
out.  He  prays  them  to  take  the  money  and  spare  Jesus. 
Pilate  scornfully  refuses,  and  taunts  him  with  his  treachery. 
Judas  says : 

"I  knawe  my  trespasse  and  my  gilte 
It  is  so  gxete,  it  garres  me  grise, 
Me  is  full  woo  he  schulde  be  spilte, 
Might  I  hym  save  of  any  wise, 

Wele  were  me  }?an 
Save  hym,  sirs,  to  your  service 

I  will  me  bynde  to  be  your  man. 
Youre  bonde-man,  lorde,  to  be 
Nowe  evere  will  I  bynde  me, 
Sir  Pilate,  ye  may  trowe  me. 
Full  faithfuU  shall  ye  fynde  me. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  23 

Pilate. — Fynde  J?e  faithfull  ?  A !  foule  mot  }?e  falle ! 
Thi  maistir's  bloode  J?ou  biddist  us  save, 
And  )?ou  was  firste  J?at  did  him  treasonne." 

So  Judas  has  his  punishment ! 

Comparable  to  the  tragic  irony  of  the  "mouth-honor"  so 
distasteful  to  Macbeth  is  the  tragic  irony  of  the  blood-money 
to  Judas.  He  does  not  want  it  now.  Since  it  will  not  buy 
back  his  master,  he  loathes  it.  The  earlier  Judas  would 
have  kept  it,  if  for  nothing  else  than  to  defray  the  expense 
of  the  new  halter  with  which  he  means  to  hang  himself.  But 
the  lost  soul  sees  things  clearly.  Earth  values  have  passed. 
The  taking  and  giving  of  money  have  no  significance  now. 
The  intention  is  all,  as  he  has  long  since  realized,  and  as  his 
scorners  do  not  fail  to  insist. 

An  almost  ^schylean  touch  is  added  to  this  little  drama 
in  what  might  be  called  the  epilogue,  a  scene  embodying  the 
superstitious  dread  of  the  other  people  in  regard  to  the  thirty 
shillings.  Judas  is  indifferent  to  them;  but  they  are  por- 
tentous to  Pilate  and  Kaiphas.  And  I  dare  say  that  when 
the  announcement  was  made  that  the  money  should  not  go 
into  the  treasury,  but  should  be  used  to  buy  a  potter's  field, 
something  not  far  from  a  thrill  of  anticipatory  horror  struck 
more  than  one  heart  among  the  poorer  portion  of  the  on- 
lookers at  the  English  pageant : 

"Pilgrims  and  palmers  to  putte  )?ere. 
And  other  false  felons  J?at  we  for- fare." 

Crucifixion.  Before  leaving  the  mysteries  we  will  notice 
the  "Crucifixion,"  and  mention  by  the  way  a  few  isolated 
facts ;  namely,  that  the  slaughter  of  the  innocents  apparently 


24  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

took  place  on  the  stage,  as  did  also  the  death  of  Herod  in 
the  Towneley,  as  well  as  that  of  his  infant  son,  and  the  death 
of  Adolescens  (whom  Lamech  slays),  and  the  racking  of 
Christ.  In  the  last,  the  realism  of  the  conversation  enhances 
the  horror.  The  York  play  is  the  most  elaborate.  There 
are  one  hundred  fifty-two  lines  of  nervous,  crude,  running 
comment  on  the  work  as  it  proceeds — stichomythia. 

After  the  soldiers  have  ordered  Jesus  to  lie  down  and 
bend  his  ''back  upon  this  tree,"  and  one  man  has  taken  his 
right  hand,  and  another  his  left,  a  third  his  limbs,  a  fourth 
his  head,  and  are  setting  out  with  speed  to  accomplish  the 
fastening,  they  find  to  their  dismay  that  the  body  is  too 
short:  'Tt  failis  a  foste  and  more."  (1.  107.)  Two  of  the 
men  are  concerned :  they  fear  that  their  work  must  be  done 
over ;  but  the  third  says : 

"Why  carpe  ye  so?    Faste  on  a  corde, 
And  tugge  hym  to,  by  toppe  and  taile." 

They  comment  and  struggle  for  forty  lines,  and  finally 
accomplish  the  horrid  work  to  the  breaking  of  the  sinews: 
"Zan,  assundir  are  both  sinews  and  veins,  on  like  a  side; 
so  have  we  soughte."     (1.  148.) 

But  they  must  yet  carry  him  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  and 
"hym  hyng  on  heghte  )?at  men  myght  see."  They  discuss 
whether  four  men  are  enough  for  the  weight.  They  make  a 
great  ado  about  the  lifting : 

Mil — Lifte  uppe! 

Mil. — Latte  see ! 

Mil. — Owe!  lifte  a-lang. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  25 

Mil. — Fro  all  ]?is  harme  he  schulde  hym  hyde, 
And  he  was  God. 

A  touch  of  dramatic  irony. 

The  situation  is  repeated  when  they  start  on  again  after 
resting.  But  the  most  realistic  horror  comes  when  they  lift 
the  cross  up  high  and  let  it  fall  suddenly  into  the  mortise 
so  as  to  jolt.  Finding  that  the  hole  is  too  big,  they  set  to 
work  to  fix  the  upright  with  wedges,  hammering  them  in 
and  jesting  the  while  at  the  man  on  the  cross  above.  They 
repeat  his  prophecies  to  him,  and  then  leave  him — to  "make 
mowes  on  the  mone."     (1.  286.) 

The  lamentation  scene  of  the  "Maria  Magdalene"  and 
"Maria  Virgo"  in  the  Coventry  Cycle  is  more  dignified  and 
impressive  than  many  similar  elegiac  scenes  in  Elizabethan 
tragedy. 

Of  deep  pathos,  likewise, — the  kind  that  Shakespeare  con- 
sidered worthy  of  tragedy — we  have  an  example  in  the 
Coventry  "Burial  of  Christ,"  where  Maria  Virgo  kisses  the 
bloody  face  of  her  son : 

A,  mercy !  mercy  myn  owyn  son  so  dere, 

Thi  bloody  face  now  I  must  kysse! 
Thi  face  is  pale,  withowtyn  chere ! 

Of  meche  joy  now  xal  I  misse  ! 
Ther  was  nevyr  modyr  that  sey  this, 

So  her  son  dyspoyled  with  so  grete  wo : 
And  my  dere  chylde  nevyr  did  amys, — 

A,  mercy !  fadyr  of  hefne,  it  xulde  be  so ! 

Considering  the  time,  surely  one  feels  that  the  conception 
and  treatment  here  displayed 'do  not  compare  unfavorably 


26  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

even  with  the  greatest,  even  with  that  of  the  last  scene  in 
one  of  the  greatest  of  all  English  dramas,  where  the  broken 
old  king  hangs  over  the  sweet  dead  body  of  his  beloved 
Cordelia.  /*'' 

Early  Moralities.  "The  Castle  of  Perseverance,"  the  earli- 
est complete  extant  morality,  has  for  its  theme  the  spiritual 
history  of  Mankind,  as  the  Miracle  cycles  had  the  spiritual 
history  of  the  world.  The  whole  tone  of  the  play  is  serious, 
and  there  are  here  and  there  tragic  moments.  Indeed  the 
play  may  be  said  to  end  in  a  catastrophe,  since  Mankind 
sinks  into  hell.  (He  is  saved  only  by  the  Catholic  dispensa- 
tion of  the  mass.)  The  play  opens  with  the  world 
(Mundus),  the  Flesh  (Caro),  and  the  Devil  (Belial),  each 
making  announcement  of  his  dominion.  The  Good  and  Bad 
Angels  contend  for  the  alliance  of  Mankind,  and  Bad  Angel 
wins  by  promising  Mankind  wealth  along  with  worldly  pleas- 
ure. This  conquest  ends  what  might  be  called  the  "intro- 
duction," and  the  "action"  begins  immediately — Mankind's 
struggle  with  the  world.    By  and  by  Good  Angel  says : 

"Mankind  has  forsakyn  me!  (1.  451) 

Alas,  man,  for  love  of  the ! 
Ya,  for  this  gamyn  and  this  gle 
Thow  shalt  grocehyn  and  grone." 

The  world  wins  step  by  step  until  Mankind  is  "With 
sevene  synys  sadde  be-set,"  and  is  defiant  of  good : 

"Mekyl  myr  ]>e  I  mone  in  mynde,  (1.  1245) 

With  melody  at  my  mow  )?is  met; 
My  proud  pouer  schal  I  not  ende, 
tyl  I  be  putte  in  peynys  pyt, 
to  helle  hent  fro  hens. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  27 

"In  dale  of  dole,  tyle  we  are  downe 
We  schule  be  clad  in  a  gay  gowne: 
I  see  no  man  but  J?ey  use  somme 

of  pese  vij  dedly  synnys."  (1.  1253) 

A  not  inappropriate  comment  on  the  world. 

As  the  story  goes,  this  is  a  tragic  situation.  Good  Angel 
says  (1.  1290),  ''Alas!  Mankinde  is  bobbyt  and  blent  as  J?e 
blynde !"  .  .  .  "Alas !  Mankynde  is  soylyd  and  saggyd  in 
synne !" 

Good  Angel  and  Shrift,  however,  with  the  aid  of  Penance, 
get  Mankind  into  the  Castle  of  Perseverance.  (1.  1693.) 
Here  he  is  exhorted  by  the  forces  of  Good.  The  tragic  situ- 
ation comes  when,  lured  by  his  old  enemy  Covetousness, 
Mankind  decides  to  leave  the  Castle  of  Perseverance : 

"I  forsake  J?e  Castle  of  Perseverance : 
In  coveytyse  I  wyl  me  hyle. 
For  to  gete  sum  sustynaunce.'* 

To  the  reproach  of  Good  Angel,  to  the  effect  that  Mankind 
is  being  allowed  to  destroy  himself,  Meekness  says: 

"Good  Angel,  what  my  I  do  )?er-to?         (1.  2558) 
hymselfe  may  his  soule  spylle, 
Mankynde,  to  don  what  he  wyl  do, 
God  hath  zonyn  hym  a  fre  wylle." 

This  is  the  tragedy,  of  course, — that  he  insists  on  his  own 
will  and  sells  himself  to  worldly  pleasure.  He  sinks  so  low 
that  he  says  (1.  2775) : 

"If  I  myth  al-wey  dwellyn  in  prosperyte, 
Lord  God,  )?an  wel  were  me ! 
I  wolde,  ]>e  medys,  forsake  ]?ee 

&  nevere  to  comyn  in  hevene." 


28  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Death  assails  Mankind,  and  Mankind  is  not  ready,  no 
more  than  was  Faustus.  Death  and  Mankind  meet  face  to 
face  (1.  2843),  ^"d  I  take  it  that  the  combat  was  as  real  and 
as  tragic  to  the  audience  as  was  that  between  Macbeth  and 
his  adversary  at  the  final  struggle.  And,  ironic  justice! 
here  stands  the  boy  ''I-know-not-who"  to  reap  Mankind's 
wealth,  as  later  there  stood  the  boy  Malcolm  to  appropriate 
Macbeth's  crown.  But  Mankind,  after  all,  is  more  like 
Faustus  in  his  death ;  for  he  sinks  to  hell  crying  on  the 
world  to  help  him: 

"Werld,  werld!  have  me  in  mende!      (1.  2853) 
Good  syr  Werld !  helpe  now  Mankinde !" 

A  Morality  of  Wisdom  Who  is  Christ.  "A  Morality  of 
Wisdom  Who  is  Christ"  (c.  1450)  is  midway  between  "The 
Castle  of  Perseverance"  (c.  1425)  and  "Mankind"  (c.  1475), 
in  date  and  composition.  In  effectiveness  the  pieces  range  in 
the  same  order.  "Mankind"  is  the  weakest.  There  is  no 
tragic  situation  in  "Wisdom,"  however,  unless  the  bare 
shadow  summed  up  in  11.  520-527  be  one.  Lucifer,  dressed 
as  a  dandy,  has  been  angling  for  Mind,  Will,  and  Under- 
standing. He  has  caught  them,  and  now  stands  chuckling 
over  his  success.    He  says : 

"Of  my  dysyere,  now  have  I  summe; 
Wer  onys  brought  into  custume, 
Then  farewell,  consyens !  he  wer  clumme, 
I  xulde  have  all  my  wyll. 

"Resone  I  have  made  bothe  deffe  and  dumme, 
Grace  ys  owt,  and  put  a-rome; 
Wethyr  I  wyll  have,  he  xall  cum, 
So  at  ]?e  last  I  xall  hym  spyll." 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  29 

This  is  like  lago's   incisive  scorn:    "Work,  my  medicine, 
work !    Thus  credulous  Fools  are  caught." 

Mankind.  "The  handling  of  its  subject  shows  us,"  says 
Pollard,  "that  in  'Mankind'  the  morality  play  is  approaching 
its  sixteenth  century  degradation."  The  play  was  written, 
he  says,  for  strolling  actors,  a  fact  that  partly  accounts  for 
its  low  tone.  After  Pollard's  analysis,^  it  is  scarcely  worth 
while  to  talk  of  tragic  situations.  Mercy  and  Mankind,  the 
only  serious  characters  in  the  play,  are  made  laughing  stocks 
at  once  by  the  other  characters  and  by  the  author.  If  the 
play  were  written  in  good  earnest  as  a  morality,  the  tragic 
situations  would  come  where  (i)  Mankind  gives  up  his 
spade  (1.  542)  :  "Here  I  gyf  uppe  my  spade  for  now  and 
forever";  and  (2)  where,  ashamed  of  his  life,  he  cries: 

"A  rope!  a  rope!     I  am  not  worthy!" 

Perhaps  line  720  would  be  tragic,  where  wretched  Mankind 

puts  off  his  monitor  until  another  time:    "to  morne  or  the 

next  day."     This  scene  of  a  rope  is  a  favorite  one  in  later 

plays.     Hieronimo  is  discovered  on  the  stage  with  a  rope; 

and  Achitophel  in  "David  and  Bethsabe"  shows  the  rope 

with  which  he  is  going  to  hang  himself  like  Judas  before 

him,  despite  the  seemingly  mixed  dates. 

Mundus  et  Infans.     "Mundus  et  Infans"  has  a  simple, 

straightforward  plot:  the  Worlde,  Conscyence,  Folye,  and 

Perseverance  in  turn  try  to  direct  Infans,  who  is  successively 

called  Wanton,  Lust,  and  Lykynge,  Manhode,  Shame,  and 

Age.     The  theme  is  like  that  of  most  of  the  moralities — 

life  and  salvation: 

iThe    Macro    Plays:     Early    English    Text    Society,    Extra 
series  91. 


30  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

"Folye  before  and  same  behynde, — 
So,  syrs,  thus  fareth  the  Worlde  alwaye !" 

(11.  698-699) 

The  pathetic  situation  comes  in  line  713,  where  conscience, 
deserted  by  his  ward,  who  is  setting  out  to  London  to  seek 
Folye,  says: 

"Saye,  Manhode,  friende,  whyder  wyll  ye  go?" 

He  goes  to  destruction;  and,  in  line  'j(y'j,  he  moans  his  lot 
(Enter  Manhode,  old  and  broken)  : 

"Alas !  alas  !  that  me  is  wo ! 
My  life,  my  lykynge  I  have  forlorne." 

"Folye  hath  gyven  me  a  name;  (1.  828) 

So  where-ever  I  go 
He  clypped  me  Shame, 
Now  Manhode  is  gone, 
Folye  hath  followed  me  so." 

Everyman.  "Everyman"  is  exceedingly  dramatic.  It  in- 
creases in  effectiveness,  until  at  the  last  episode,  after  all  his 
fellows  have  deserted  him,  Everyman  goes  into  the  grave 
alone,  with  only  Good  Deeds  to  speak  for  him.  What  shall 
be  presented  is  chosen  by  the  morality  writer  with  more 
than  usual  insight.  Instead  of  beginning  back  at  Every- 
man's birth,  the  play  starts  at  the  tragic  moment :  when  the 
soul  is  called  to  account. 

The  action  consists  in  continued  invitation  and  refusal, 
refusal  on  the  part  of  former  companions  to  go  with  Every- 
man on  his  long  journey.  To  one  seeing  the  play  acted,  the 
cumulative  effect  is  very  impressive.  But  the  most  striking 
situations  are  the  first  and  the  last.     A  high  school  pupil 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  31 

who  saw  the  Ben  Greet  company  present  "Everyman"  in 
Chicago  said  that  he  should  never  forget  the  thrill  that  he 
felt  at  the  words, 

"Everyman,  stand  still !    Whyder  arte  thou  goynge 
Thus  gayle?     Hast  thou  thy  maker  forgete?" — 

words  which  are  uttered  by  the  awful  figure  of  Death,  who 
confronts  Everyman  just  as  he  is  apparently  leaving  the 
scene,  in  the  full  flush  of  worldly  joy — the  pert  feather  in 
his  cap,  the  silk  cloak  over  his  shoulder,  the  lute  under  his 
arm.  I  dare  say  that  such  was  the  impression  on  the  Tudor 
audience. 

The  next  most  striking  situation,  as  has  been  said,  is  the 
last,  where  those  qualities  which  one  persists  in  thinking  will 
stay  with  one,  desert  Everyman:  Five  Wits,  Beauty,  Dys- 
crecyon,  even  Knowledge,  slip  away.  Good  Deeds  can  help 
Everyman  only  into  his  grave,  and  at  best  say : 

"Shorte  our  ends  and  mynys  be  our  payne. 
Let  us  go  and  never  come  agayne." 

One  can  hardly  assert  that  the  day  of  the  moralities  is  over, 
when  New  York  audiences  crowd  to  see  "Everywoman." 

The  Disobedient  Child.  Contrary  to  the  usual  prodigal- 
son  story,  "The  Disobedient  Child"  ends  unhappily,  thereby 
at  once  suggesting  tragedy.  Nevertheless,  the  situations  are 
those  of  comedy ;  for,  however  unpleasant  to  the  young  man 
may  be  the  prospect  of  living  with  his  termagant  wife,  we 
feel,  as  does  his  father,  that  the  headstrong  youth  deserves 
the  experience.  We  may  yield  him  an  aphorism,  but  not  a 
tear.     Indeed,  the  purpose  of  the  play  is  didactic ;  and  with 


32  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

its  structural  merits,  its  good  verse  and  realistic  dialogue, 
it  asserts  itself  as  an  early  example  of  satiric  comedy,  rather 
than  as  a  promise  of  tragedy. 

The  Nice  Wanton.  Along  with  the  "Disobedient  Child" 
the  "Nice  Wanton"  is  a  vigorous  antecedent  of  the  cor- 
rective drama  of  manners  as  well  as  in  theme  and  some  situ- 
ations an  antecedent  of  domestic  tragedies.  It,  too,  ends 
unhappily.  The  theme  is  announced  in  the  prologue:  "He 
that  spareth  the  rod,  the  chylde  doth  hate."  The  element  of 
the  tragic,  much  more  apparent  than  in  the  "Disobedient 
Child,"  is  worked  out  in  the  lives  of  the  mother,  the  daugh- 
ter, and  one  son.  The  action  consists  in  the  progress  to 
shame  of  Ismael  and  Delila.  The  promise  of  the  catastrophe 
comes  in  line  39,  where  the  two  children  cast  away  their 
books  and  turn  to  pastime. 

The  preparation  for  the  mother's  grief  and  attempted 
suicide  is  clearly  made  in  the  sketch  of  her  character  given 
in  lines  95-140,  where  she  is  highly  indignant  at  the  accusa- 
tion against  her  children,  and  refuses  to  investigate.  We 
rather  rejoice  in  her  independence  in  showing  the  gossip  the 
door,  and  have  a  warm  spot  in  our  hearts  for  her  when  she 
fusses  over  her  children's  material  welfare: 

"Nay,  by  this  the  poor  soules  be  come  from  scole  wery, 
I  will  go  get  them  meate  to  make  them  mery." 

But  we  cannot  forgive  her  negligence  of  their  spiritual  good 
— for  we  have  met  the  young  people,  and  can  understand 
Eulalia's  prophecy. 

The  singing  and  card-playing  scene  well  contrasts  with 
the  impending  catastrophe,  and  emphasizes  it.     Here  occur 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  33 

the  deeds  that  shall  immediately  react.  The  next  scene 
shows  their  reaction,  and  is  the  beginning  of  the  catastrophe. 
A  tragic  situation,  really  melodramatic,  is  reflected  in  the 
words  of  Delila  in  line  292 :  "To  tell  you  who  I  am,  I  dare 
not  for  shame."  She  has  come  in,  ragged,  disfigured,  and 
halting  on  a  staff.  Her  brother  is  a  somewhat  more  lovable 
character  than  when  the  audience  heard  him  last  in  the  un- 
gracious office  of  back-biting.  He  sees  the  wretched  woman 
and  undertakes  to  comfort  her.  He  has  unwittingly  called 
her  "sister": 

"Shew  me  your  name,  sister,  I  you  pray, 
And  I  will  help  you  now  at  your  neede : 
Both  body  and  soule  wyl  I  fede," 

She  answers : 

"You  have  named  me  already,  if  I  durst  be  so  bold, 
Your  sister  Delila,  that  wreche  I  am." 

The  trial  of  Ismael  and  Iniquity  is  not  tragedy ;  it  is  some- 
thing else,  although  the  two  are  condemned  to  be  hanged. 
But  a  trial  scene  is  in  line  with  later  English  drama. 

In  the  "Nice  Wanton"  the  mother's  sorrow  is  what  is 
most  tragic.  She  attempts  to  kill  herself.  An  extremely 
pathetic  speech  is  her  utterance  when  the  neighbors  report 
to  her  her  son's  condemnation.  With  quickened  imagination 
she  sees  his  death : 

"My  dere  son  Ismael  hanged  up  in  chaines — 
Alas,  the  wynd  waveth  his  yellow  lockes!" 

For  penetrative  simplicity  this  last  line  seems  worthy  to  be 
put  beside  Emilia's  reply  to  her  husband  in  the  great  Othello 


34  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

catastrophe:  "Perchance,  lago,  I  will  ne'er  go  home!"  or 
beside  the  Duchess  of  Malfi's  charge  to  her  maid  when  the 
executioners  have  already  entered  the  room: 

"I  pray  thee,  look  thou  giv'st  my  little  boy 
Some  syrup  for  his  cold,  and  let  the  girl 
Say  her  prayers  ere  she  sleep." 

In  summary,  then,  it  may  be  said  that  in  the  mystery 
plays  and  in  the  moralities  up  to  1560  there  are  a  number 
of  elements  found  in  later  tragedy.  Especially  are  the  older 
plays  good  in  situations.  Some  vivid  and  intense  scenes 
have  their  after-types  even  today.  Before  Senecan  influence 
became  manifest  in  English  tragedy,  English  audiences 
were  accustomed  to  acted  scenes  presenting  a  not  inconsid- 
erable amount  of  realistic  spectacle  and  making  a  strong 
emotional  appeal. 

Some  of  those  scenes  may  be  tabulated  thus : 

A  murderous  tyrant  showing  fear  of  a  successor. 

An  apparition  at  a  revel. 

Appropriation  by  demons. 

Pathos  scenes  with  children  in  them. 

Weeping  and  lamentation  scenes. 

A  murderer  trying  to  hide  the  body  of  the  victim. 

Tragic  mental  struggle  and  conflict,  emphasized  with  irony. 

Elaborate  catastrophe  with  torture. 


Chapter  II 
The  Catastrophe 

It  is  indisputable  that  much  of  the  structure,  or  lack  of 
structure,  that  early  Elizabethan  dramas  display  was  imposed 
by  the  stories  behind  the  action ;  but  surely  that  fact  is  one 
of  all  dramas  from  "Agamemnon"  to  "Macbeth,"  and  from 
"Romeo  and  Juliet"  to  "Paolo  and  Francesca."  The  con- 
scious artist  like  Schiller  struggles  with  his  sources  and 
subdues  them  to  an  extent ;  but  the  unconscious  artist — well, 
who  is  the  unconscious  artist?  When  did  he  live?  The 
answer,  no  doubt,  lies  back  in  that  fascinating  realm  of  all 
Hterary  origins  which  our  ballad  critics  have  for  some  time 
been  entertainingly  discussing.  Until  they  arrive  at  an 
agreement  the  rest  of  us,  I  suppose,  have  a  right  to  remain 
silent. 

Fortunately,  in  this  study  the  question  is  not  one  of  con- 
sciousness or  unconsciousness  on  the  part  of  the  artist,  but 
rather  is  it  a  question  of  consciousness  of  what?  We  know 
that  the  Elizabethans  deliberately  set  out  to  write  plays. 
The  inquiry  now  is — How  did  they  start?  What  did  they 
take  for  a  fixed  point  of  structure  ?  We  recall  that  the  mid- 
dle ages  made  a  rough  distinction  between  tragedy  and 
comedy;  and  that  Chaucer  summed  up  that  view  in  a  very 
strict  definition,  wherein  the  chief  requirement  of  a  tragedy 
is  that  it  should  end  in  wretchedness  and  that  the  character 

35 


36  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

should  fall  from  a  high  estate.  This  distinction  referred  to 
narrative,  and  not  to  dramatic  treatment ;  but  our  early  play- 
wrights adopted  the  distinction.  If  they  chose  to  have  their 
tragical  histories  ''mixed  full  of  mirth,"  they  announced  the 
fact  ("Cambises")  ;  and  if  they  chose  to  change  the  ending 
of  a  serious  story,  they  warned  the  public  ("Damon  and 
Pythias").  We  find  their  title-pages  displaying  the  words 
tragedy  and  comedy.  That  these  were  sometimes  combined 
into  ''tragical-comedy"  only  goes  to  prove  that  the  play- 
wright felt  the  division  that  his  public  usually  expected. 

Now,  the  prime  Elizabethan  tragical  situation  was  death. 
This  fact  is  evinced  no  more  surely  by  the  plays  themselves 
than  by  the  announcements  of  them.  We  find  such  outlines 
as  this:  "The  Spanish  Tragedie,  containing  the  lamentable 
end  of  Don  Horatio  and  Bellimperia :  with  the  pittifull  death 
of  olde  Hieronimo."  "The  Lamentable  Tragedie  mixed  full 
of  plesant  mirth,  containing  the  Life  of  Cambises,  King 
of  Percia,  from  the  beginning  of  his  kingdom  until  his  Death, 
his  one  good  deed  of  execution,  after  that,  many  wicked 
deeds  and  tyrannous  murders  committed  by  and  through 
him,  and  last  of  all  his  odious  death  by  God's  Justice  ap- 
pointed, Done  in  such  order  as  followeth." 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  an  Elizabethan  tragedy  without 
death,  and  those  plays  that  were  called  tragedies  had  death  at 
the  end.  Moreover,  not  merely  death,  but  violent  death  was 
expected.  In  the  miracle  plays  audiences  had  become  accus- 
tomed to  slaughter,  murder,  torture,  hanging,  and  suicide; 
hence  these  presentations  would  easily  have  been  included 
in  Elizabethan  tragedies  without  any  influence  from  abroad. 
But  the  influence  came,  enhancing  the  native  tendency.   Yet 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  37 

it  is  noticeable  that  the  foreign  influence  did  not  furnish 
the  tradition  of  having  death  invariably  present  at  the  end 
of  the  action.  The  Greek  did  not,  certainly ;  and  the  Latin 
model  at  first  so  closely  followed  in  England  did  not  display 
it  as  indispensable.  The  English  seem  of  themselves  to  have 
demanded  the  invariable  death  conclusion.  Whether  the 
early  use  came  from  a  native  impulse  toward  completeness 
(as  the  contribution  of  the  cycle  idea  to  the  mystery  plays 
would  seem  to  indicate),  or  whether  the  later  convention 
came  by  mere  repetition  of  earlier  chance,  one  would  not  be 
safe  in  asserting.  It  may  be  that  what  is  easily  the  strong- 
est scene  of  the  church  drama  made  here  an  enduring  record 
for  itself  in  the  dramatic  preference  of  the  English  people. 
The  emotions  excited  by  the  representation  of  the  crucifix- 
ion were  ultimately  pleasurable  emotions  and  not  far  from 
what  Aristotle  asserts  as  necessary  concomitants  of  great 
tragedy.  Mingled  with  pity  and  fear  was  a  sense  of  pro- 
pitiation. The  sight  of  suffering  thus  became  purifying  in 
so  far  as  the  figure  on  the  cross  represented  humanity  pay- 
ing a  debt  for  transgression.  Moreover,  this  strongest  inci- 
dent of  all  the  miracle  plays  occurred  as  the  end  of  a  pageant, 
and  naturally  enough  (but  curiously  apposite  to  our  sugges- 
tion) finished  with  the  decent  arrangement  of  the  body  and 
the  carrying  of  it  ofif  the  stage  with  the  accompanying  word 
of  a  friend. 

But  whatever  the  cause,  the  fact  remains  that  the  death 
catastrophe  appears  to  be  the  first  fixed  point  of  structure 
towards  which  the  Elizabethan  playwrights  worked  in  the 
making,  of  their  tragedies.  There  seems  to  have  been  an  in- 
dissoluble connection  in  their  minds  between  tragedy  and 


38  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

death,  if  not  between  death  and  tragedy.  In  other  words, 
their  early  compositions  of  the  type  end  in  death,  and  those 
plays  with  the  word  tragedy  added  to  the  title  in  conjunction 
with  some  other  designation  use  the  word  tragedy  to  signify 
the  element  of  death.  For  instance,  ''The  Love  of  David  and 
Faire  Bethsabe,with  the  Tragedy  of  Absalom."  "The  trouble- 
some raigne  and  lamentable  death  of  Edward  the  Second, 
King  of  England :  with  the  tragical  fall  of  proud  Mortimer. 
[And  in  the  second  quarto  this  addition :]  And  also  the  life 
and  death  of  Peirs  Gaveston,  the  greate  Earle  of  Cornewall, 
and  mighty  favorite  of  King  Edward  the  Second."  It  is 
noteworthy  that  these  separate  items  in  this  last  title  indi- 
cate not  only  the  parts  into  which  this  drama  divides,  but 
also  the  end  of  each  part,  and  that  it  is  the  very  close  of  the 
play  which  presents  "the  tragical  fall  of  proud  Mortimer" — 
namely,  his  loss  of  his  head,  for  there  is  no  other  "fall"  pre- 
sented. 

The  reason  for  the  addition  of  this  catastrophe  to  the 
long  tragic  death  of  Edward  is  really  also  the  popularity 
of  the  revenge  motive,  the  subject  taken  up  in  our  next 
chapter ;  the  significant  fact  here  is  that  the  words  "tragical 
fall"  represent  just  eighty  lines  at  the  close  of  the  play. 
Before  taking  up  the  next  point  of  study,  however,  we  might 
well  look  at  the  variation  the  early  dramatists  made  in  their 
prime  tragic  situation.  In  this  brief  review  we  will  not 
concern  ourselves  with  sources,  but  only  with  the  modifica- 
tions of  the  chosen  scene. 

In  "Gorboduc"  a  series  of  deaths  is  reported,  one  conse- 
quent upon  the  other.  The  younger  brother  kills  the  elder; 
the  mother,  the  younger ;  the  populace,  the  royal  father  and 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  39 

mother;  the  nobles  destroy  the  leaders  of  the  rabble;  and 
civil  war  blots  out  the  whole  nobility.  Since  the  gentlemen 
of  the  Inner  Temple  who  wrote  the  play  were  strongly  under 
classical  influence,  none  of  these  deaths  occur  on  the  stage ; 
but  that  the  authors  set  out  to  write  with  the  end  of  their 
play  in  mind  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  they  declared  their 
intention  to  be  to  teach  a  lesson  against  civil  discord. 

In  the  little  "tragical  comedy"  of  ''Apius  and  Virginia" 
there  is  the  reported  stabbing  of  the  daughter  by  her  father 
to  save  their  honor,  and  the  actual  bringing  in  of  her  severed 
head. 

In  Gascoigne's  "Jocasta"  relatives  weep  over  a  dead  body 
pushed  about  on  the  stage. 

In  "Cambises"  the  hated  tyrant,  who  has  killed  a  number 
of  persons,  including  an  innocent  child,  and  who,  toward  the 
end  of  the  play,  has  met  with  an  accident  while  leaping  on 
his  horse,  finally  comes  before  the  audience  to  die,  with  a 
"sword  thrust  up  into  his  side  bleeding."  He  falls  down  and 
"quakes  and  stirs." 

In  "Tancred  and  Gismunda"  the  heroine  is  forced  to 
drink  from  a  golden  goblet  her  lover's  heart  with  some  poi- 
son which  she  has  added;  and  her  old  father,  after  fon- 
dling the  corpse  of  his  daughter,  whose  sorrow  he  has 
caused,  "pluckes  out  his  eyes  and  stabbs  himself." 

At  the  close  of  "The  Misfortunes  of  Arthur,"  the  report 
is  brought  in  that  the  king  and  his  traitor  son  have  each 
given  the  other  a  death-wound  in  personal  encounter  on  the 
battlefield.  The  son,  it  is  said,  spitted  himself  on  the  out- 
stretched sword  of  his  father  in  order  to  deliver  the  blow. 
The  dying  king  appears  on  the  stage  and  orders  the  dead 


40  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

body  of  his  son  to  be  brought  to  him.  While  he  gazes  on  the 
beloved  face,  he  laments  the  terrible  sin  that  could  bring  this 
end  about.  The  gazing  on  a  face  and  philosophizing  the 
while  affords  English  drama  two  or  three  of  its  most  mem- 
orable scenes. 

The  next  variation  in  the  death  theme  at  the  end  of  the 
play  is  startling  indeed.  In  "The  Spanish  Tragedy"  we  find 
murder  elaborately  prepared  with  the  intent  of  revenge ;  a 
quick  series  of  assassinations  (one  by  a  woman  who  there- 
upon commits  suicide)  ;  the  displaying  of  a  corpse  previously 
hung  up  for  the  purpose  behind  a  curtain ;  the  biting  out  of 
his  own  tongue  by  the  hero  to  avoid  possible  disclosure  of 
his  accomplices ;  and,  finally,  his  stabbing  of  himself  and  his 
remaining  enemy.  Hardly  could  presented  catastrophe  go 
further.  An  obvious  modification  of  the  scene  just  men- 
tioned would  be  the  hanging  up  of  a  live  person  by  accident 
and  the  stabbing  of  him  to  death  before  the  audience.  This 
modification  we  find  in  the  Absalom  tragedy  included  in  the 
"David  and  Bethsabe." 

Yet  another  handling  of  corpses  occurs  in  "The  Battle  of 
x\lcazar,"  where  the  dead  leader,  propped  up  in  his  chair 

as  if  alive,  is  carried  about  to  deceive  his  followers;  and  a 

drowned  person  is  brought  dripping  upon  the  stage. 

There  remains,  it  would  seem,  but  one  possible  addition  to 
the  list  of  catastrophe  devices  before  1590;  namely,  that  the 
dead  should  kill  the  living.  We  have  this  addition  in  the 
"Solyman  and  Perseda"  last  act,  where  the  lustful  tyrant 
meets  his  death  by  kissing  the  poisoned  lips  of  the  brave 
woman  he  has  pursued  to  her  doom. 

We  see,  then,  that  this  favorite  situation  grew  in  elab- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  41 

Grateness  at  the  end  of  the  play  until  it  came  to  take  in  not 
only  the  report  but  the  presentation  of  a  very  large  variety 
of  horrors.  Catastrophes  subsequent  to  those  we  have  re- 
viewed could  for  the  most  part  only  rearrange  these  digits, 
or  multiply  them  together,  or  subtract  from  them.  Indeed, 
the  first  tragedy  of  the  new  period  ("Tamburlaine")  re- 
verted to  natural  dying  for  its  conclusion.  We  might  say, 
therefore,  that  pre-Marlowean  dramatists  practically  threw 
their  net  around  all  catastrophe. 

The  horror  of  the  last  scene  of  "Titus  Andronicus"  is  only 
the  death  of  Virginia,  the  unpleasant  suicide  of  Gismunda, 
and  the  successive  assassinations  of  old  Hieronimo's  play 
added  together.  The  base  indignity  in  the  "Edward  11" 
catastrophe  is  but  an  episode  of  the  Damon-and-Pithias 
"tragic  comedy"  turned  serious.  We  examine  "Macbeth" 
and  we  find  that  at  the  close  the  audience  witnessed  a  per- 
sonal combat  and  saw  a  severed  head  brought  in.  We  recall 
that  in  the  last  act  of  "Hamlet,"  besides  the  duel  and  the 
stabbing,  there  is  the  drinking  of  the  stoup  of  wine  into 
which  the  pearl  and  the  poison  have  been  dropped ;  and  that 
in  "Lear,"  in  addition  to  the  hearing  of  the  deaths  of  many 
contestants,  we  see  the  grief-stricken  parent  distractedly 
mourning  over  the  body  of  his  child.  But  these  details  were 
not  new  when  Shakespeare  used  them.  They  had  been  on 
the  English  stage  for  thirty  years.  In  one  of  Tourneur's 
terrible  tragedies  there  occurs  the  accidental  death  of  a  tyrant 
and  in  the  other  a  dead  body  is  propped  up  as  if  alive; 
in  Massinger's  "Duke  of  Milan"  the  murderer  takes  the  fatal 
kiss  from  the  poisoned  lips — repeated  incidents.  In  other 
words,  the  ending  of  the  early  Elizabethan  tragedies  became 


42  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

an  established  convention  used  both  by  the  scholars  and  the 
popular  playwrights. 

But  whoever  reads,  even  slightly,  in  Elizabethan  drama 
realizes  great  differences  in  these  similar  catastrophes,  espe- 
cially in  the  case  of  Shakespeare's  plays,  and  one  naturally 
inquires  the  cause.  Why  is  it  that  Shakespeare  stands  out 
so  great  among  his  great  and  similar  contemporaries?  In 
what  way  does  he  surpass  those  who  immediately  went  be- 
fore him  and  those  who  came  after  him?  It  seems  no 
answer  to  reply,  Because  he  kept  the  middle  way  between 
the  drama  of  the  schools  and  the  drama  of  the  people. 
Yet  this  statement  comes  very  near  to  being  the  truth.  He 
tempered  convention  with  liberality  and  liberality  with  con- 
vention. He  reached  a  developed  typical  technic  and  avoided 
the  overelaboration  of  it.  His  predecessors  lacked  the  full 
development,  and  his  successors  went  beyond  it;  that  is,  to 
use  the  biological  analogy,  the  later  men  reverted. 

Yet  this  is  the  same  old  answer  that  everybody  gives,  and 
it  is  illuminative  only  if  we  already  know  the  facts.  It  errs 
on  the  side  of  summary  and  generality.  One  may  well  ask. 
What  was  the  typical?    And  how  did  Shakespeare  perfect  it? 

It  is  our  plan  to  answer  these  questions  specifically  and  in 
detail  for  tragedy  in  terms  of  the  plays  themselves.  We  have 
made  the  first  advance  when  we  have  found  a  common  ele- 
ment; namely,  the  similarity  of  the  catastrophe.  But  before 
we  attempt  to  proceed  we  ought  to  find  out  how  it  happened 
that  catastrophes  not  only  were  but  remained  so  much  alike. 
What  bound  Elizabethan  tragedies  together?  What  was  it 
that  reinforced  the  native  impulse? 


Chapter  III 
The  Motive,  or  Impelling  Idea 

One  thing  that  bound  all  Elizabethan  tragedies  together 
from  "Gorboduc"  to  "The  Traitor"  and  "The  Cardinal"  was 
the  influence  of  Seneca.  To  Elizabethans  "Seneca"  meant 
a  number  of  plays,  the  ten  Latin  tragedies  ascribed  to  one 
name.  These  were  studied  in  the  schools,  paraphrased  as 
class  exercises  and  imitated  and  quoted  by  everybody  who 
made  any  pretense  to  learning  either  in  Latin  or  the  vernacu- 
lar. Queen  Elizabeth  herself  translated  part  of  the  "Her- 
cules CEtaeus."  In  1581  a  collected  authorized  edition  of 
the  ten  plays  came  out  in  English  rhymed  verse,  and  was 
extraordinarily  popular. 

How  acute  the  influence  of  Seneca  was  on  Elizabethan 
tragedy  in  the  minutiae  of  rhetoric  and  philosophy,  Pro- 
fessor Cunliffe  set  forth  about  twenty  years  ago  in  a  doc- 
torate essay  at  the  University  of  London.^  But  the  influence 
that  Professor  Cunlifl^e  discovers  was,  it  seems  to  me,  a 
perennial  influence,  one  applied  to  the  minds  of  the  rising 
generations  successively,  much  as  Greek  and  Latin  tradition 
is  brought  to  bear  on  the  minds  of  high  school  and  university 
students  today,  and  then  ultimately  in  weaker  form  reaches 
the  man  of  the  street.  Contact  with  Seneca  was  obviously 
in  many  cases  not  immediate,  but  rather  three  or  four  times 
removed,  like  the  contact  of  some  persons  with  Alexander 

1  "Influence  of  Seneca  on  Elizabethan  Tragedy,"  John  W.  Cun- 
liffe.   Macmillan,  1893. 

43 


44  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Pope  today,  solely  through  household  quotations.  Moreover, 
such  influence  of  phrase  and  sentiment  varied  with  the  per- 
son influenced  and  resulted  in  mere  quotation  or  in  free  and 
characteristic  assimilation,  according  to  the  amount  of  indi- 
viduality and  creative  genius  possessed.  Shakespeare  made 
use  of  Seneca  to  perfect  his  own  technic. 

It  is  not  the  minutiae  of  Senecan  influence  that  we  need  to 
recall  in  this  study,  but  rather  the  large  structural  eflfects 
that  Professor  Cunliffe  altogether  omits.  He  speaks  of  the 
five  acts  and  the  chorus,  the  violation  of  the  unities  and  of 
the  so-called  stage  decencies,  the  messenger,  and  the  other 
stock  characters ;  but  it  is  not  these  with  which  we  are  most 
concerned.  The  chorus  was  soon  largely  neglected  even  by 
the  scholars,  and  the  five  acts  had  been  in  use  in  English 
comedy  for  fifteen  years  when  "Gorboduc"  was  written. 
The  Chorus  was  used  by  Ben  Jonson  in  one  of  his  two 
tragedies,  and  Shakespeare  employed  it  much  modified  in 
**Romeo  and  Juliet,"  and  harnessed  to  his  needs  in  "Henry 
V,"  and  as  somewhat  of  a  convenience  in  "Pericles"  and 
"Winter's  Tale" ;  but  we  do  not  today  consider  it  as  any- 
thing essential,  nor  was  it  so  considered  in  England  after 
1587.  It  is  to  be  found  in  "Gorboduc,"  in  "Tancred  and 
Gismunda,"  in  "The  Misfortunes  of  Arthur" ;  but  in  "The 
Spanish  Tragedy"  it  appears  as  already  changed  in  nature, 
and  Marlowe  got  along  without  it,  except  in  one  play. 

We  will  not  consider  the  mere  mechanical  division  into 
acts  and  scenes.  The  school  dramas  of  Senecan  imitation 
observed  the  division  made  by  the  Chorus ;  but  many  of  the 
best  Elizabethan  plays  were  practically  continuous,  uninter- 
rupted presentations,  or  at  least  the  manuscripts  look  to  us 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  45 

now  as  if  such  were  the  case.  So  far  as  the  quartos  indicate, 
"Hamlet"  was  not  divided  by  Shakespeare  beyond  Act  i, 
Scene  2  (and  the  indication  there  is  only  a  little  more 
space)  ;  "Antony  and  Cleopatra,"  not  beyond  Act  i,  Scene  i ; 
that  is,  the  author  did  not  definitely  mark  the  larger  divi- 
sions that  the  modern  texts  employ.  All  he  indicated  were 
exits  and  entrances.  Division  is  convenient  for  the  student 
and  critic,  but  not  at  all  essential  to  the  structure  of  the 
play.  Indeed,  the  matter  is  almost  wholly  a  problem  of 
presentation.  Everyone  knows  that  modern  actors'  copies 
bear  other  divisions  for  Shakespeare's  plays  than  the  conven- 
tional ones  publishers  use.  For  instance,  Marlowe  and 
Sothern  present  "Macbeth"  in  six  acts,  and  "Romeo  and 
Juliet"  likewise.  Ben  Jonson  did  not  divide  "Sejanus"  into 
scenes  or  mark  any  of  the  exits  and  entrances,  although  he 
revised  the  manuscript  for  the  folio  edition  of  1616. 
"Catiline"  was  separated  into  parts  only  by  the  choruses. 
This  confidence  in  the  players  and  the  recognition  of  possi- 
ble varying  conditions  in  buildings  and  stages  show  the 
practical  good  sense  of  Elizabethan  dramatists,  who  were  for 
the  most  part  also  actors.  There  was  a  great  difference 
between  the  court  stage,  with  its  luxuriance  of  costume  and 
scenery,  for  which  Jonson  wrote  his  elaborate  masques, 
and  the  platforms  of  the  strolling  players,  or  the  limited 
facilities  of  the  "private"  theaters.  Neither  our  dramatists 
nor  our  actors  in  Elizabethan  days  were  concerned  much, 
except  in  the  masques,  about  mechanical  inventions  or 
illusions.  Writers  frankly  appealed  to  the  imagination  of 
the  audience  and  were  concerned  primarily  with  presenting 
in  beautiful  verse  intense  passions  of  interesting  men  and 


46  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

women  living  anywhere  on  the  globe  at  any  period  of  time. 
Jonson  was  concerned  with  something  else,  too,  historical 
accuracy  of  character  and  quotation ;  but  he  was  not  con- 
cerned in  his  tragedies,  as  writers  were  later  in  the  Restora- 
tion, about  the  shape  of  the  walls  on  the  stage  or  the  pattern 
of  the  floor  mat,  or  just  when  one  chair  should  be  exchanged 
for  another.  Jonson  was  much  stricter  in  small  details  than 
many  of  his  fellows,  but  he  had  a  large  enough  vision  of 
true  drama  to  know  essentials  from  non-essentials.  The 
division  into  acts,  therefore,  as  well  as  the  chorus  and  the 
so-called  stage  decencies,  may  be  considered  as  non-essential 
— at  least  for  this  study.  We  are  interested  in  what  has  per- 
sisted as  indispensable  elements  of  structure,  and  shall  move 
forward,  considering  in  detail  only  those  larger  points. 

The  Senecan  convention  that  undoubtedly  made  the  deep- 
est impression  on  Elizabethan  minds  was  the  revenge  motive. 
It  is  not  surprising  to  discover,  therefore,  that  it  had  a  direct 
and  lasting  effect  on  the  structure  of  tragedy.  There  were 
three  marked  periods  of  influence.  First,  the  direct,  through 
the  plays  themselves  either  in  the  original  or  in  translation. 
Second,  the  return  through  the  revolt  against  it,  when  Mar- 
lowe and  Shakespeare  sought  other  themes  and  a  freer 
technic,  yet  gradually,  nevertheless,  conformed  somewhat  to 
the  best  conventions  of  Seneca  and  partly  remade  them. 
This  fact  is  especially  manifest  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet,"  in 
the  Senecan  elements  of  "Hamlet,"  and  in  the  structure  of 
"Othello."  Third,  Senecan  influence  was  indirect,  applied 
through  the  later  fashions  popular  in  English  tragedy  from 
1611  to  1642.  The  last  phase  we  shall  omit.  Our  study 
ends  with  161 1. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  47 

Before  we  can  appreciate  the  facts  of  Senecan  influence 
we  shall  need  to  examine  Senecan  plays  themselves  and 
analyze  one  or  two  somewhat  completely.  The  process  may 
seem  a  little  long,  but  we  can  hardly  dispense  with  the  knowl- 
edge. It  is  necessary  for  reference  and  for  the  understand- 
ing of  technical  terms.  We  need  notice,  however,  only  those 
matters  that  concern  essential  structure. 

Nine  of  the  ten^  tragedies  of  Seneca  have  revenge  for  a 
motive  of  the  catastrophe :  revenge  of  a  deity  for  the  murder 
of  a  favorite  ("Hercules  Furens,"  Juno  for  Lycus; 
"CEdipus,"  Apollo  for  Laius)  ;  revenge  of  brother  on  brother 
for  usurping  wife  and  kingdom  ("Thyestes")  ;  father  for 
the  supposed  immorality  of  his  son  ("Hippolytus") ;  shades 
for  their  own  murder  ('Troades,"  "Agamemnon")  ;  wife  for 
desertion  ("Medea,"  "Hercules  CEteus") ;  tyrant  for  favor 
of  populace  toward  his  divorced  Empress  ("Octavia").^ 

Just  as  all  the  Senecan  tragedies  have  the  same  general 
motive  for  the  catastrophe,  so  all  have  practically  the  same 
form  for  the  presentation  of  the  action. 

The  Senecan  drama  opens  with  a  monologue  or  dialogue 
of  retrospective  and  anticipatory  import.  For  instance,  in 
the  "Thyestes,"  Tantalus,  Msegera,  and  the  Chorus  succeed 
not  only  in  laying  the  coming  tragedy  before  us,  but  also  in 
reviewing  the  history  of  Tantalus  and  thus  explaining  the 
presence  of  the  atmosphere  of  crime  and  revenge.  So  in  the 
"Hippolytus,"  so  in  the  "Medea,"  we  get  a  review  and  fore- 
sight; so  in  the  "Agamemnon,"  where  the  shade  of  Thyestes 
puts  the  audience  into  possession  of  all  the  secrets ;  so  in  the 

^  The  Phoenissae  (or  Thehais)  was  not  completed. 
^  "Octavia"  is  now  known  not  to  have  been  by  the  same  writer 
as  the  other  dramas. 


48  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

"Hercules  Furens,"  where  Juno  lays  bare  her  mind.  We 
notice  this  convention,  however,  about  the  Senecan  ghost 
and  other  supernatural  beings:  they  take  no  part  in  the 
subsequent  action  as  do  some  of  the  Elizabethan  specters.^ 

The  Chorus  invariably  closes  the  first  act,  either  by  assist- 
ing in  the  narrative  or  by  moralizing  on  themes  drawn  from 
the  past  or  the  coming  events. 

The  whole  of  Act  i,  therefore,  is  in  Seneca  practically  an 
exposition,  epic  in  character,  but  serving  its  purpose — since 
his  drama  (as  we  think  now,  though  the  Elizabethans 
thought  otherwise)  was  intended  for  perusal  and  not  presen- 
tation. The  Elizabethan  playwright,  with  his  acute  spectacu- 
lar sense,  wholly  oblivious  of  Seneca's  classical  conventions 
of  unity  of  time,  began  his  play  at  a  point  as  many  days  or 
years  before  the  catastrophe  as  he  pleased.  Hence  the 
presentation  of  action  in  the  early  Elizabethan  tragedies 
begins  much  further  from  the  catastrophe  than  does  the 
presentation  of  action  in  the  Senecan.  In  fact,  it  has  been 
said  that  the  Senecan  tragedy  begins  just  after  what  in  the 
story  we  should  call  the  crisis ;  and  the  whole  drama  is  little 
more  than  the  elaboration  of  the  catastrophe,  or  rather  of  the 
return  of  a  deed  on  the  doer — the  retribution  that  ends  in 
the  catastrophe.  That  this  statement  is  not  wholly  true  and 
is  slightly  misleading,  we  shall  see  later  in  connection  with 
the  "Hippolytus."  For  the  present  it  is  enough  to  say  that 
the  first  act  is  in  part  retrospective  and  expository  of  the 

1  The  "Octavia"  is  a  slight  exception,  since  Agrippina  appears 
in  act  three.  She  does  not,  however,  affect  the  action.  In  the 
Elizabethan  play  of  "Locrine,"  Albanact's  Ghost  snatches  food  from 
the  hand  of  the  starving  Humber. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  49 

story  that  has  already  passed  its  crisis,  and  anticipatory  of 
the  catastrophe  that  is  consequent. 

Act  2  in  Seneca  is  in  every  case  dialogue  that  sets  the 
chief  agent  of  the  catastrophe  forth  in  the  act  of  planning 
the  execution  of  his  revenge  ("Thyestes,"  a  dialogue  be- 
tween Atreus  and  the  guard ;  "Medea,"  Medea  and  nurse ; 
"Agamemnon,"  Clytemnestra  and  nurse,  and  so  on).  Since 
the  deed  for  which  this  revenge  is  planned  has  preceded  the 
time  of  the  drama,  the  reader's  attention  from  the  first  is 
directed  to  the  catastrophe,  which  is  to  be  final.  For  in- 
stance, Thyestes  has  already  committed  the  offense  that 
brings  his  brother's  retributive  action ;  so  have  Jason  and 
Creon,  that  which  brings  Medea's.  The  execution  of  the 
revenge  is  therefore  a  fixed  point.  This  emphasis  of  the 
catastrophe  the  Elizabethans  did  not  overlook,  and  we  find 
them  in  every  instance  sedulously  caring  for  its  effect. 

In  Act  3  of  the  Senecan  plays  we  have  the  antagonists 
face  to  face  and  almost  on  equal  terms.  For  instance, 
Thyestes  is  a  free  agent  and  need  not  accept  the  crown, 
though  his  brother  counts  on  his  cupidity;^  Creon  is  king 
and  need  not  give  Medea  a  night  in  which  to  devise  a  scheme, 
or  Jason  may  speak  up  like  a  man  and  thus  save  his  soul  and 
his  children ;  Phaedra  has  everything  in  her  own  hands,  for 
Theseus  believes  her,  yet  Theseus  need  not  be  so  gullible  as 
he  is  about  the  sword.  The  condition  within  the  drama  at 
the  third  act  is  generally  this :    Dominance  does  not  .change 

^The  dialogue  with  Creon  comes  just  before  the  opening  of 
Act  3  in  the  "Medea,"  and  the  dialogue  with  Jason  within  Act 
3.  The  two,  together  with  the  soliloquy  between,  form  an  inter- 
esting group,  prototypes  of  a  Shakespearean  convention  that  we 
will  take  up  later. 


50  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

sides — the  ascendant  force  simply  becomes  stronger ;  the  one 
that  flared  up  in  opposition  sinks  and  is  lost.  We  can  hope 
for  only  an  instant  that  Jason  will  be  convinced  by  Medea, 
or  that  Thyestes  will  refuse  the  crown,  or  that  (Edipus  will 
in  the  end  prove  himself  innocent  as  well  as  ignorant. 

Act  4  in  Seneca  is  sometimes,  as  in  Shakespeare,  the 
repository  of  incidents :  the  meeting  of  (Edipus  and  the  old 
man;  the  prophesying  of  Cassandra;  Poppaea's  dream; 
hence  it  is  the  place  used  by  the  author  for  introduction  of 
new  characters.  Or  it  contains  the  partial  fulfillment  of 
the  catastrophe:  the  death  of  Hippolytus;  the  slaughter  of 
Thyestes's  sons;  the  death  of  Dejanira;  Medea's  prepara- 
tion and  dispatch  of  the  fatal  cloak. 

Act  5  is  given  over  to  the  completion  of  the  catastrophe, 
either  in  further  deeds  visibly  presented, — the  suicide  of 
Phaedra,  the  assassination  of  her  sons  by  Medea,  the  stab- 
bing of  Cassandra  by  Clytemnestra,  the  seizing,  of  Octavia — 
or  in  the  recital  of  them  by  the  Chorus;  as  in  "(Edipus," 
"Troades,"  "Hercules  GEtaeus." 

After  we  have  looked  at  the  action  of  the  "Medea"  and 
the  "Hippolytus"  and  have  summed  up  the  revenge  motive 
we  will  notice  its  course  in  early  English  tragedy  before 
Shakespeare. 

"Medea" 

Act  One.  The  tragedy  opens  with  a  monologue  by  Medea, 
in  which  she  prays  the  gods  above  and  below  to  visit 
vengeance  on  Jason,  on  the  new  spouse,  on  Creon,  and  all  the 
Corinthian  race.  She  reviews  her  own  and  Jason's  history 
up  to  his  present  alliance  and  begins  to  discover  that  it  is  to 
be  her  privilege  to  punish  the  offenders.     "But  how?"  she 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  SI 

asks  herself,  just  as  the  chorus  chants  forth  the  nuptial 
song  of  Jason  and  Creusa,  and  ends  the  act. 

Act  Two.  Medea  is  enraged  at  the  music,  and  in  her 
angry  raving  strikes  the  keynote  of  the  subsequent  action: 

"Si  potest,  vivat  mens, 
Ut  f uit,  Jason ;  sin  minus,  vivat  tamen, 
Memorque  nostri  muneri  parcat  meo." 

But  because  of  her  love  for  Jason,  she  immediately  begins 
to  debate  with  herself  whether,  after  all,  Creon  is  not  to 
blame  for  the  whole  unhappy  disturbance,  and,  asserting 
that  he  is,  she  declares  her  intention  of  reducing  his  palace 
to  cinders. 

In  the  ensuing  argument  with  the  Nurse,  Medea  comes  to 
the  realization  that,  though  she  may  have  impulse  and  bold- 
ness, she  yet  lacks  one  requisite  for  a  satisfying  revenge; 
namely,  time  in  which  to  mature  a  plan.  She  is  to  be  ordered 
into  exile,  she  knows,  but  she  tells  the  nurse  that  she  will  not 
go  until  she  has  had  her  revenge.  She  comforts  them 
both  with  faith  in  her  ability  to  secure  the  delay;  "for," 
argues  she,  "fortune  may  rob  us  of  our  riches,  but  not 
of  our  mental  attributes" — when  pat  upon  her  words  enters 
Creon,  timMus  imperio.  By  taunts  and  seeming  submission 
she  outwits  him  into  granting  her  a  day  in  which  to  prepare 
for  her  departure ;  and  then  in  very  wantonness  of  conscious 
power  she  offers  to  let  him  shorten  the  time.  She  says: 
''nimis  est:  recidas  aliquid  ex  isto  licet/' 

For  Creon,  this  meeting  is  the  test.  He  knows  that  he 
should  not  grant  the  petition.  He  even  says  to  Medea: 
Frandibus  tempus  petis.  But,  although,  when  she  queries, 
"Quae  fraus  timeri  tempore  exiguo  potest?"  he  answers: 


52  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

'^Nullum  ad  nocendum  tempus  angustum  est  malts/'  Yet  he 
yields,  and  Medea  is  victor. 

The  rise  to  this  high  point  has  been  made  through  one 
stage — the  gaining  of  Creon's  consent.  This  consent  comes 
at  the  end  of  the  act,  and  makes  a  scene  of  much  interest, 
one  of  an  intense  group. 

Act  Three.  The  situation  parallel  with  this,  but  surpass- 
ing it  in  interest,  is  the  second  scene  of  the  third  act.  Here 
Medea  faces  Jason  and  dramatically  recalls  earlier  condi- 
tions, emphasizes  his  desertion,  pleads  for  his  loyalty,  and, 
upon  being  repulsed,  renounces  her  children  and  pretends 
submission.  During  the  interview  she  has  found  his  vulner- 
able spot — natos  amat — and  she  knows  where  to  strike 
when  she  is  ready.  She  pretends  submission  only  to  con- 
ceal her  real  purpose  of  revenge,  in  which  she  has  finally 
been  settled  by  Jason's  hardness,  and  for  which  she  now 
"bends  up  each  corporal  agent."  After  he  leaves  her  with 
the  smug  suggestion,  "miserias  lenit  qnies/'  she  vehemently 
rages  over  his  heartlessness  and  rushes  to  prepare  her  re- 
venge, of  which  she  outlines  the  first  part,  and  thus  gives 
again  a  clear  insight  into  the  catastrophe.  In  its  intensity, 
in  its  recapitulation  of  earlier  conditions,  in  its  repetition  in 
form  and  partly  in  content  of  a  preceding  scene,  in  its  un- 
mistakable turn  toward  the  catastrophe, — in  so  much  this 
scene  is  surely  an  archetype  of  one  of  the  great  functional 
scenes  in  typical  Elizabethan  drama.  We  shall  come  across 
it  often. 

Act  Four.  Act  4  in  the  "Medea"  is  taken  up  with  a 
recital  of  the  preparations  for  the  revenge  stroke,  and  con- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  53 

tains  the  incident  of  the  sending  of  the  sons  with  the  fatal 
cloak. 

Act  Five.  Act  5  contains  the  catastrophe,  which  is  partly 
recited  by  messenger,  partly  performed ;  the  more  thrilling 
deed,  the  assassination  of  the  children,  is  apparently  accom- 
plished before  the  eyes  of  the  spectator.  This  convention 
of  part  recitation  and  part  presentation  the  Elizabethans 
adopted;  though,  influenced  by  popular  taste,  they  leaned 
more  to  presentation. 

Hippolytus 

Act  One.  The  "Hippolytus,"  like  the  "Medea,"  opens 
with  a  monologue;  but,  unlike  that  of  the  "Medea,"  the 
monologue  is  not  retrospective  or  epic,  but  spectacular.  Its 
function  is  simply  to  introduce  Hippolytus  as  a  hunter. 
Scene  2,  however,  brings  Phaedra  forth,  as  the  chief  actor, 
in  a  dialogue  with  the  nurse,  wherein  they  reveal  Phaedra's 
state  of  mind  about  her  absent  husband  and  about  her  present 
love. 

Act  Two.  Act  2,  Scene  i,  accordingly,  goes  on  with  the 
revelation,  offers  the  moral  debate,  and  ends  (as  usual) 
with  the  protagonist's  decision  to  carry  out  the  first  impulse ; 
but  not,  however,  until  after  Phaedra  has  tentatively  given 
up  her  desire  and  has  threatened  to  commit  suicide  as  the 
easiest  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  The  threat  gives  oppor- 
tunity for  the  conventional  discussion  of  the  right  "to  be  or 
not  to  be"  (Phaedra,  Dejanira,  Hamlet,  Brutus),  and  serves 
the  dramatic  purpose  of  setting  the  nurse  in  motion.  She 
promises  to  solicit  the  young  man  in  behalf  of  her  mistress. 


54  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Scene  2  presents  the  nurse  in  a  vain  attempt  to  induce 
in  Hippolytus  a  conjugal  frame  of  mind ;  and  Scene  3  brings 
him  to  his  crisis,  when  he  reaHzes  what  it  is  Phaedra  wants. 
When  he  rejects  her,  he  signs  not  only  her  doom  but  his. 
She  must  meet  Theseus. 

Act  Three.  Up  to  this  meeting  Phaedra  has  been  the 
leader.  After  the  meeting  Theseus  seemingly  controls  the 
action.  For  a  change  is  made  by  Phaedra's  lie.  This  scene 
over  the  ivory-handled  dagger  starts  the  return  of  the  evil 
deed  upon  the  doer.  Theseus  goes  out  to  punish  the  sup- 
posed offender,  and,  in  having  him  killed,  most  effectively 
punishes  the  real  culprit.  Phaedra  loves  Hippolytus  more 
than  she  loves  her  life;  and  when  she  sees  his  dead  body 
she  reveals  her  secret,  defends  him,  and  then  kills  herself. 
In  a  certain  sense,  however,  Phaedra  leads  throughout.  It 
is  the  calamitous  result  of  her  passion  that  is  set  forth.  So 
with  the  original  Greek.  In  the  "Hippolytus"  of  Euripides, 
Phaedra's  passion  is  the  great  feature  of  the  action,  and 
after  the  crisis  she  directs  the  course  of  events  with  her  dead 
hand. 

Acts  Four  and  Five.  The  catastrophe,  as  is  evident,  begins 
back  with  the  report  of  the  death  of  Hippolytus  (Act  IV) 
and  ends  with  the  suicide  of  Phaedra  (Act  V). 

The  tragedy  is  wholly  romantic  in  theme  and  in  some 
particulars  of  form.  It  proved  to  be  the  antecedent  of  a 
long  line  of  love  tragedies  from  "Tancred  and  Gismunda" 
to  the  present  day.  The  young  men  who  wrote  "Tancred 
and  Gismunda"  knew  Seneca  at  first  hand,  but  they  need 
not  necessarily  have  so  known  him  in  order  to  get  sugges- 
tions from  him.    This  play  of  "Hippolytus"  was  translated 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  55 

into  English  by  John  Studley  as  early  as  1556.  "Tancred 
and  Gismunda,"  or,  in  its  earlier  form,  "Gismunde  of 
Salerno,"  was  presented  twelve  years  later. 

A  good  convention  that  the  Elizabethans  took  from  Seneca 
was  the  revenge  motive.  This  statement  may  seem  a  little 
startling  in  the  light  of  the  many  assertions  as  to  the  baleful 
influence  of  the  Latin  plays.  But  I  speak  advisedly.  The 
Senecan  revenge  motive  brought  order  out  of  chaos  in  Eng- 
lish serious  drama,  and  this  was  no  small  contribution. 
Without  it,  or  something  similar  to  it,  we  should  still  be 
having  backboneless  plays  like  "Cambises,"  "Promos  and 
Cassandra,"  and  "Damon  and  Pithias."  In  the  following 
review  of  some  of  the  extant  early  plays  up  to  1587,  we 
shall  see  how  the  Elizabethans  gradually  came  to  under- 
stand the  advantage  of  a  dramatic  motive  clearly  empha- 
sized. 

Camhises.  "Cambises"  is  one  of  the  simplest  of  the 
tragedies  and  not  very  much  affected  by  Seneca,  as  the  kind 
and  number  of  the  personages  and  as  the  course  of  the  inci- 
dents show.  Though  the  author  quotes  Seneca,  the  action 
is  not  Senecan.  The  formula  runs  thus :  A  kills  B,  A  kills 
C,  A  kills  D,  A  kills  E,  A  is  killed  by  accident. 

Interspersed  among  these  events  are  comic  scenes.  There 
is  a  change  of  motive  for  each  of  the  tyrant's  deeds  and  no 
reason  for  his  death.  The  comic  scenes  are  innocent  of  any 
connection  with  the  main  course  of  events — if  there  can  be 
said  to  be  a  main  course.  That  is  what  is  lacking,  a  course 
of  events,  and  that  is  what  a  revenge  motive  would  have 
given  this  play ;  that  is  what  a  revenge  motive  gives  to  our 
more  decided  Senecan  imitations.    Things  just  "happen"  in 


56  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

**Cambises" ;  they  do  not  "occur."  What  I  mean  is,  they  do 
not  run  one  upon  another  for  a  reason.  Now,  in  ''Gorboduc," 
a  Senecan  imitation,  they  do  so  run.  The  deaths  are  conse- 
quential and  revenge  is  declared  each  time  to  be  the  motive.^ 
"Gorboduc,"  so  far  as  structure  goes,  is  therefore  a  vastly 
better  play  than  "Cambises";  but  the  situations  are  never- 
theless epic,  not  dramatic.  "Gorboduc,"  I  feel,  would  have 
to  yield  to  "Cambises"  on  the  popular  stage  today ;  for  there 
is  not  a  little  good,  lively  dramatic  business  in  both  the  comic 
and  the  tragic  parts  of  "Cambises.''  The  English,  we  re- 
member, had  come  in  their  long  association  with  church 
drama  to  enjoy  good  situations  and  stirring  incidents.  The 
scene  where  the  tyrant  sets  the  little  boy  up  as  a  mark  and 
shoots  him  through  the  heart  won  the  breathless  attention 
of  the  Elizabethan  audience,  I  dare  say,  and  was  as  thor- 
oughly liked  as  a  similar  scene  later  with  the  Germans. 

The  mother-motive  of  the  miracle  play  is  well  emphasized 
here  in  "Cambises,"  and  despite  the  early  date  of  the  piece 
is  not  ill  presented.  The  child  makes  an  endearing  speech 
just  as  the  king  is  going  to  kill  him: 

"Good  master  king,  doo  not  shoot  at  me,  my 
mother  loves  me  best  of  all." 

And  the  mother  as  she  gathers  the  dead,  though  still  warm, 
little  body  in  her  arms  and  wraps  it  about  with  her  apron, 
utters  this  musical  line : 

"Thy  mother  yet  wil  kisse  thy  lips,  silk-soft  and 
pleasant  white." 

1  Act  III,  Scene  i,  11.  163-167;  Act  IV,  Scene  i,  11.  34-81; 
Scene  2,  II.  25,  136,  247.     Act  V,  Scene  i,  11.  19,  44,  53,  120. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  57 

The  next  to  the  last  word  is  not  altogether  appropriate,  but 
the  line  as  a  whole  is  exceedingly  beautiful,  and  certainly  it 
is  a  marvel  among  its  lumbering  seven-footed  kind. 

We  might  notice  the  variety  of  motives  that  Cambises 
indulges  in.  He  executes  the  wicked  judge  for  unjust  de- 
cisions (this  is  the  tyrant's  one  good  deed) ;  he  kills  the 
child  because  of  a  frank  speech  of  its  father  and  to  show 
that  wine  does  not  unsteady  a  king's  hand  and  that  even  in 
his  cups  he  "could  doo  this  valiant  thing" ;  he  has  his 
brother  put  to  death  on  the  testimony  of  a  liar ;  and  he  deliv- 
ers his  wife  into  the  hands  of  Cruelty  and  Murder  (ab- 
stract characters)  because  she  wept  openly  in  public  for 
the  death  of  his  brother.  The  setting  of  this  last  scene,  a 
banquet,  was  a  favorite  device  with  all  drama,  and  very 
effective  with  tragedy  from  the  miracle  play  of  the  last  sup- 
per to  Schiller's  excellent  use  of  the  circling  question  in 
"The  Piccolomini." 

But  the  remarkable  fact  about  "Cambises"  is  that,  despite 
its  allusion  to  Seneca  in  the  prologue,  it  misses  the  one  valu- 
able thing  which  Seneca  could  have  given  it ;  namely,  a  con- 
tinued motive.  That  the  play  was  popular  in  its  own  day 
is  attested  by  the  parodies  of  the  Cambises  vein.  The  rea- 
son of  the  appeal  lay  in  the  stirring  situations.  There  was 
torture  (flea  him  with  a  false  skin),  and  blood  ran  on  the 
stage  (A  little  bladder  of  vinegar  prickt).  Interesting  to 
note,  also  Yonge  Child's  heart  was  cut  out  before  the  audi- 
ence. 

Gorboduc.  There  is  a  slight  feeling  of  totality  aroused 
by  the  "Gorboduc"  action,  but  simply  because  everybody  is 
killed  off.    The  deaths  are  reported,  not  enacted.    There  is 


58  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

no  idea  of  unity  of  time.    Whatever  unity  of  action  there  is 
comes  from  the  sequence  of  revenge  motives. 

Tancred  and  Gismunda.  In  "Tancred  and  Gismunda,"  as 
in  "Gorboduc,"  there  is  a  revenge  motive;  but  'Tancred 
and  Gismunda"  is  better  constructed  than  "Gorboduc,"  be- 
cause the  motive  is  single  and  strong.  There  is  but  one 
catastrophe,  and  it  is  definitely  prepared  for.  The  agent  of 
it  kneeling  and  holding  up  his  hands  to  heaven  makes  public 
declaration  of  his  intention.  Confessedly  Senecan,  the  play 
recalls  the  "Hippolytus"  in  structure  and  the  "Thyestes" 
and  "CEdipus"  in  two  incidents.  In  the  version  we  now 
have  of  "Tancred  and  Gismunda"  we  find  the  argument, 
the  chorus,  the  five  acts,  and  the  (Elizabethan)  convention 
of  the  dumb  show. 

The  plot  divides  itself  into  two  parts,  marked  off  by 
Tancred's  discovery,  which  is  made  subsequent  to  the  close 
of  Act  3  and  is  reported  in  Act  4,  Scene  i.  After  this  scene, 
dominance  changes  sides.  Tancred,  who  has  before  been  but 
a  comparatively  week  antagonist,  takes  up  the  action,  re- 
verses success,  and  carries  the  love  story  to  a  shocking 
catastrophe.  Up  to  Tancred's  report  the  action  has  been  the 
triumphing  of  Gismunda's  love  over  her  father's  opposition ; 
after  his  report  the  action  is  the  triumphing  of  Tancred's 
opposition  over  Gismunda's  love.  The  exposition  is  accom- 
plished, as  in  the  "Hippolytus,"  by  means  of  a  monologue 
succeeded  by  a  dialogue,  in  which  the  young  woman  sets 
forth  her  loneliness  as  a  quondam  wife,  and  speaks  of  the 
possibility  of  a  new  love.  Though  there  is  a  slight  dififer- 
ence  between  the  first  acts  in  the  two  dramas  ( Phaedra  talks 
to  the  nurse;  Gismunda  to  her  father),  the  outlines  of  the 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  59 

acts  are  precisely  alike,  even  to  the  introduction,  which  is 
practically  spectacular  in  both,  and  the  chorus,  which  $:loses 
both. 

The  second  acts  in  the  two  dramas  are  also  the  same  in 
outline :  three  scenes  and  a  chorus  each.  Scene  i  is  a  dia- 
logue, in  both  dramas,  between  the  young  woman  and  her 
aged  confidant,  who  promises  to  try  to  soften  the  opponent 
and  induce  him  to  live — in  the  one  case,  the  father ;  in  the 
other,  the  young  man  himself.  Scene  2  is  the  attempt — a 
dialogue  between  the  confidant  and  the  man,  which  ends  in 
failure.  Scene  3  is  in  the  one  drama  a  dialogue ;  in  the  other 
practically  a  dialogue  (except  for  a  final  speech  by  an  other- 
wise silent  spectator).  The  romantic  character  of  the  Italian 
novella,  the  source  of  this  fable,  carried  the  English  drama- 
tists away  from  the  Senecan  form,  but  not  so  far,  it  seems,  as 
some  critics  have  thought.  We  might  notice,  before  pro- 
ceeding, that  the  third  act  in  each  drama  consists  of  three 
scenes  and  a  chorus ;  that  the  discovery  of  guilty  love  is 
punished  by  the  discoverer  with  death  to  the  young  man; 
that  his  murder  is  accomplished  by  agents  and  is  reported; 
and  that  the  report  causes  the  suicide  of  the  young  woman, 
a  suicide  that  in  each  drama  takes  place  before  the  audience. 

In  the  English  drama  the  rise  to  the  test  scene  proceeds 
through  two  stages :  ( i )  the  attempt  on  the  part  of  Lucrece, 
the  confidant,  to  gain  the  father's  consent;  (2)  the  inde- 
pendent action  of  Gismunda  to  favor  her  lover.  The  rise 
in  the  Latin  drama  is  made  through  practically  the  same  two 
stages :  ( i )  the  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  nurse  to  gain 
the  consent  of  Hippolytus;  (2)  the  independent  action  of 
Phaedra  to  win  him. 


60  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

It  is  noticeable  also  that  each  man  is  preparing  for  a  hunt 
when  accosted  by  the  confidant  of  the  young  woman,  and 
each  asks:  "What  of  her?  Is  she  not  well?"  And  also 
each  confidant  advises  her  mistress  to  desist  for  fear  of  con- 
sequences ;  but  promises  to  help  because  she  loves  her,  and 
at  some  time  in  the  action  reports  to  the  audience  the  state  of 
the  young  woman's  mind. 

The  test  scenes  differ  because  of  the  story :  one  is  wholly 
enacted  and  partly  reported  (falsely,  by  a  participator)  to 
the  avenger,  whose  realization  of  the  crime  marks  the  turn- 
ing point  of  the  action ;  the  other  is  wholly  reported,  but  is 
emphasized  by  the  witness  when  he  kneels  and  vows  ven- 
geance, and  in  his  oath  outlines  the  coming  catastrophe. 

From  the  beginning  of  Act  4  the  English  dramatists  have 
a  hard  struggle  to  keep  to  the  Senecan  form.  They  seem 
constantly  on  the  point  of  having  the  assassination  of  the 
young  man  take  place  directly  on  the  stage,  though  they 
finally  succeed  in  getting  it  enacted  behind  the  scenes,  but 
not  until  they  have  allowed  Tancred  to  call  Gismunda  forth 
and  tell  her  that  he  is  going  to  kill  her  lover,  and  to  call  the 
lover  forth  and  tell  him  he  is  doomed.  The  fourth  act  in  the 
English  drama  is  consequently  much  longer  than  in  the 
Latin,  but  is  conventional  in  containing  a  retrospective  nar- 
rative of  what  has  occurred  between  the  acts.  The  report 
is  part  of  the  catastrophe. 

The  fifth  act,  therefore,  opens  in  the  English  drama  with 
the  conventional  messenger's  report  to  the  chorus  of  the 
continuance  of  the  catastrophe-deeds.  In  Scene  2  of  this  act 
we  have  a  recollection  of  "Thyestes"  in  the  present  to  Gis- 
munda of  her  lover's  heart,  which,  after  a  bit  of  rather  dainty 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  61 

rhetoric  on  her  part,  she  drinks  off  from  the  golden  goblet 
with  some  poison  she  has  added.  In  the  closing  situation 
in  the  drama  there  is  a  fine  mixture  of  popular  and  classical 
tradition :  after  a  melodramatic  farewell  death-scene  between 
father  and  daughter,  the  old  man  plucks  out  his  eyes  before 
the  audience,  apparently,  and  then,  not  content  without  an- 
other popular  convention,  commits  suicide,  in  order  to  wind 
up  the  whole  bad  business. 

These  last  two  occurrences  were  added  to  the  catastrophe 
twenty-three  years  after  the  play  was  first  presented.  In 
the  early  version  Gismunda  died  quietly  and  the  old  man 
simply  wept.  The  addition  shows  the  trend  of  Elizabethan 
tragedy. 

It  is  obvious  that  this  play  moves  along  with  some  degree 
of  impressiveness,  not  wholly  because  of  the  sensational  and 
unpleasant  story,  but  also  because  of  the  preparation  of  the 
audience  for  the  catastrophe,  because  of  a  knowledge  of  the 
motives  of  the  actors.  That  the  father  and  girl  are  at  vari- 
ance we  are  aware  from  the  first,  how  she  outwits  him  we 
observe  in  the  hollow  cane  scene  where  the  lover  gets  the 
letter,  and  that  the  father  will  kill  the  young  man  we  know 
from  definite  avowal ;  but  the  spectator's  excitement  arises 
from  watching  the  rest  of  the  catastrophe  discover  itself. 
The  gift  comes  as  a  surprise,  the  girl's  response  to  it  as  a 
distinct  shock,  and  the  father's  ending  of  himself  as  a  super- 
fluity of  poetic  justice.  It  is  truly  an  Elizabethan  touch  to 
kill  the  father  in  the  same  play.  According  to  the  Greeks, 
and  even  according  to  Seneca,  Tancred's  death  should  have 
been  another  drama.  However,  the  point  we  mark  here  is 
that  this  play  is  comparatively  simple  and  straightforward, 


62  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

and  what  kept  it  so  against  the  many  possibiHties  of  inci- 
dent was  obviously  the  Senecan  revenge  motive  that  formed 
the  construction  Hne  of  the  action  and  held  the  love  theme 
down.  In  some  of  the  later  plays  the  love  theme  runs  away 
with  the  revenge,  and  consequently  with  the  tragic  effect 
("Merchant  of  Venice")  ;  and  in  some,  incident  runs  away 
with  both  love  and  revenge  to  the  undoing  of  the  general 
structure  ("The  White  Devil"). 

But  there  is  one  great  fault  in  "Tancred  and  Gismunda" 
which  renders  it  unsatisfactory  even  as  a  Senecan  imitation. 
The  revenge  is  not  in  kind.  For  a  full  grown  woman  to 
refuse  to  obey  her  father's  whim  concerning  a  second  mar- 
riage scarcely  justifies  his  murder  of  her,  of  her  lover,  and 
of  himself.  The  opportunity  to  make  his  caprice  a  strong 
enough  motive  was  lost  by  the  playwright  through  lack  of 
characterization  of  the  domineering  old  man.  He  should 
have  been  brought  out  as  more  of  a  Lear  and  a  Coriolanus 
combined,  or  he  should  have  been  represented  as  having  in 
opposition  another  suitor  for  his  daughter,  as  old  Capulet 
had  for  his,  and  thus  so  to  have  had  his  honor  compromised 
by  his  daughter's  disobedience  as  to  be  rendered  desperate. 
To  have  asked  the  playwright  to  see  this  lack  in  1568  would 
have  been,  of  course,  to  ask  him  to  anticipate  the  development 
of  English  tragedy.  When  "Tancred  and  Gismunda"  was 
revised  in  1591,  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  had  not  been  put  by 
Shakespeare  into  the  form  of  a  drama,  and  none  of  the 
"Hamlet"  versions  as  we  know  them  today  were  finished. 
But  the  elements  that  went  to  the  making  of  the  final 
inimitable  "Hamlet"  were  fast  gathering  together. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  63 

The  Spanish  Tragedy.  The  play  that  fixed  the  revenge 
motive  in  the  EngHsh  theater  and  brought  to  every  man's 
consciousness  in  its  own  day  an  idea  of  Seneca  as  an  in- 
spirer  of  dramatic  composition  is  "The  Spanish  Tragedy." 
It  has  continued  to  the  present  to  stand  to  the  general  reader 
as  the  emblem  of  Seneca  in  England.  And  this  position  is 
correct  if  it  signifies  the  fact  that  the  great  popularity  of 
'The  Spanish  Tragedy"  emphasized  for  both  audience  and 
playv^rights  the  most  important  structural  element  that  the 
Senecan  drama  could  give  to  the  English ;  namely,  a  clear 
dramatic  motive.  The  other  English  plays  under  Senecan 
influence  had  had  revenge  for  an  avowed  motive,  but  they 
had  only  slightly  and  passingly  treated  it.  "Gorboduc" 
rather  emphasized  the  horror  of  civil  war,  and  "Tancred  and 
Gismunda"  presented  an  old  man  taking  vengeance  because 
he  had  been  disobeyed  in  an  action  wherein  the  prime  inter- 
est was  the  love  story. 

English  plays  before  "The  Spanish  Tragedy"  had  not  had 
revenge  in  kind ;  and  therefore  the  purpose  of  the  killing  and 
consequently  the  construction-line  of  the  drama  had  not  been 
emphasized  duly.  "The  Spanish  Tragedy"  presented  revenge 
in  kind,  and  there  could  be  no  mistake  about  the  fact.  The 
play  drew  its  popularity  therefrom.  The  spectators  not  only 
might  witness  a  catastrophe  of  the  sort  they  liked,  but  they 
might  watch  it  coming,  long  for  it,  enjoy  it  in  anticipation, 
and  justify  it  afterwards — all  without  explanations.  The 
situation  demanded  it;  the  play  was  built  on  it.  Then,  too, 
they  knew  who  was  going  to  bring  about  this  catastrophe. 
Every  word  he  uttered  was  for  them  important.    They  were 


64  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

to  be,  as  it  were,  accessories  before  the  fact.  Because  they 
sympathized  with  him  and  desired  the  assassination,  they 
shared  in  the  action  of  the  play. 

"The  Spanish  Tragedy"  was  deservedly  popular.  It  held 
the  stage  for  fifty  years  and  became  the  progenitor  of  one  of 
the  most  brilliant  types  of  English  tragedy  and  of  one  of  the 
greatest  dramas  of  all  the  world  and  of  all  time.  The  early 
play  was  popular  abroad  as  at  home.  The  English  comedians 
took  it  to  the  Continent,  and  we  hear  of  various  perform- 
ances in  Germany.  Whatever  one  may  say  about  the  ac- 
cumulated horrors,  however  much  its  contemporaries  might 
laugh  at  its  bad  Seneca  and  poor  Latin  and  little  Spanish 
(its  pocas  palabras!),  it  had  a  reason  for  being.  That  the 
author  did  not  himself  know  at  first  what  he  was  doing  is 
clearly  evident.  It  took  him  some  time  to  reach  his  own 
play,  his  own  distinct  contribution.  He  wrote  two-fifths  of 
comparatively  worthless  stuff  before  he  got  down  to  the 
real  action.  Andrea,  the  ghost,  recogxiizes  the  slow  progress, 
and  at  the  end  of  Act  i  queries  disconsolately,  "Come  we  for 
this  from  depths  of  underground  ?" 

Kyd,  or  whoever  it  was  who  wrote  the  play,  started  out 
to  make  a  Senecan  imitation.  He  had  the  "Hercules 
Furens"  in  mind  and  possibly  the  whole  English  Seneca  in 
hand.  "Hercules  Furens"  had  been  in  English  translation 
for  about  fifteen  years  and  the  black  letter  edition  of  all  the 
"Ten  Tragedies"  had  been  circulating  for  five  or  six  years 
before  "The  Spanish  Tragedy"  was  written.  I  have  nowhere 
else  seen  a  statement  to  the  effect  that  the  author  of  "The 
Spanish  Tragedy"  probably  had  the  "Hercules  Furens"  in 
mind ;  but,  to  feel  pretty  certain  that  he  had,  one  has  only  to 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  65 

compare  Andrea's  report  with  the  report  of  Theseus  about 
the  nether  world  through  which  he  and  Hercules  have  just 
come.* 

There  are  the  same  general  sights,  situations,  habits,  cus- 
toms and  proper  names  in  Andrea's  report  as  are  in  that 
of  Theseus  and  in  the  choruses  that  precede  and  follow  it. 
For  Andrea's  disquisitions  before  and  after  the  play,  Kyd 
hardly  needed  to  know  other  classical  allusions  than  those 
found  in  the  "Hercules  Furens,"  except  the  names  of  Hector 
and  Achilles  and  the  items  of  the  gates  of  horn.  The  last 
he  got,  doubtless,  from  the  sixth  book  of  the  "^neid,"  unless 
it  were  already  a  common  literary  term.  From  the 
"Hercules  Furens"  the  English  author  could  also  have  taken 
the  suggestion  for  the  madness  theme,  a  momentous  bor- 
rowing that  was  to  play  an  almost  universal  part  in  later 
revenge  drama. 

"The  Spanish  Tragedy,"  however,  is  in  many  respects 
remarkably  un-Senecan.  For  one  thing,  the  acts  are  four 
in  number  instead  of  five,  and  the  chorus  that  closes  each 
act  is  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue — though  the  fact  that  the 

1  The  statement  has  been  made  that  the  Induction  of  "The 
Spanish  Tragedy"  (see  J.  Schick,  Note  i  to  the  Temple  Classics 
edition,  Sp.  Tr.,  p.  135)  was  very  certainly  conceived  in  imitation 
of  Seneca's  "Thyestes."  I  think  this  statement  would  be  hard 
to  prove  if  much  more  is  meant  by  it  than  that  Kyd  had  in  mind 
the  presenting  of  two  figures  from  the  nether  world,  one  of 
whom  called  for  revenge  while  the  other  personified  it.  It  is 
perhaps  true,  rather,  that  the  author  of  "The  Spanish  Tragedy" 
had  the  whole  English  Seneca  in  mind,  and  that  the  so-called 
"Second  Tragedy,"  the  "Thyestes,"  particularly  suggested  the  frame 
work  of  the  Induction,  while  the  "First  Tragedy,"  the  "Hercules 
Furens,"  furnished  the  larger  part  of  the  content;  in  other  words, 
the  descriptions  of  the  nether  world  correspond  to  those  in  the 
"Hercules  Furens,"  not  those  in  the  "Thyestes."  Moreover,  Kyd 
need  not  have  gone  to  the  "Thyestes"  for  the  idea  of  a  pair  aris- 
ing from  the  realms  of  death,  since  Hercules  and  Theseus  arise 
therefrom. 


66  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

acts  are  four  would  not  have  been  considered  by  Kyd  as  un- 
Senecan,  since  the  "Thebais"  and  the  "Octavia"  (which  were 
then  thought  to  be  Seneca's)  have  in  the  black  letter  edition 
only  four  acts.  It  may  be  significant  in  relation  to  the  ''Her- 
cules Furens"  parallels  that  "The  Spanish  Tragedy"  chorus 
is  totally  cut  off  from  the  rest  of  the  play  in  the  sense  that 
there  is  no  interchange  of  words  between  it  and  any  of  the 
actors  proper.  The  "Hercules  Furens"  is  the  only  Senecan 
tragedy  where  this  total  disassociation  occurs;  in  all  the 
others  there  is  some  interchange  of  w^ords  between  the 
chorus  and  the  actors  proper.  Kyd,  therefore,  wittingly  or 
unwittingly  was  helping  to  make  new  drama  by  his 
emphasis. 

But  newest  of  all  was  the  material  out  of  which  the  play 
was  made.  It  is  not,  like  the  Senecan,  old  and  well-known 
fable,  but  contemporary,  popular,  political  gossip  about  the 
wars  of  Spain  and  Portugal.  The  author  seems  to  have 
woven  together  bits  of  hearsay  with  his  own  imagination. 
So  far  there  is  known  no  other  play  or  novel  containing  the 
story  ;^  that  is,  "the  story  of  Horatio's  and  Belimperia's 
love;  of  Horatio's  murder  by  Belimperia's  brother,  Don 
Lorenzo,  and  Horatio's  rival,  Don  Balthazar,  Prince  of 
Portugal;  and  the  revenge  of  Horatio's  father,  Hieronimo, 
Marshal  of  Spain,  by  means  of  a  play  where  the  murders 
supposed  to  be  only  represented  are  carried  out  in  reality." 

It  is  with  Act  II  that  this  story  of  somewhat  closely  con- 
nected events  begins.  Before  Act  II,  as  we  have  said,  the 
author  tries  to  start  a  revenge  play  in  behalf  of  Andrea  the 
ghost,  a  former  friend  of  Horatio's,  but  succeeds  only  in 

1  J.  Schick  in  the  Introduction  to  "The  Spanish  Tragedy"  in 
the  Temple  Classics. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  67 

presenting  an  induction  to  the  Horatio-Belimperia  love  plot 
By  its  encompassing  machinery  of  the  chorus  of  Ghost  and 
Revenge  and  by  its  first  announcement,  "The  Spanish  Trag- 
edy" professes  to  be,  in  Senecan  style,  the  revenge  of  a 
ghost  on  its  mortal  enemy  for  a  narrated  reason;  but  by 
the  evidence  of  its  own  scenes,  the  play  turns  out  to  be,  in 
truly  English  style,  the  revenge  of  a  man  on  the  same 
enemy  for  an  allied,  acted  reason. 

There  are  three  fables  involved,  and  naturally  the  author 
gets  lost  among  them.  He  doubles  on  his  track ;  hence  the 
emphasis  of  the  revenge  motive  and  hence  the  utter  shatter- 
ing of  the  unities.  The  revenge,  however,  when  it  finally 
comes,  is  entirely  intelligible ;  for  it  is  in  kind — a  life  for  a 
life.  This  fact  is  the  strong  structural  contribution  of  "The 
Spanish  Tragedy." 

Even  the  part  of  the  play  that  professes  to  be  Senecan 
is  really  something  new  and  different.  The  author  begins 
regularly  enough  in  Senecan  conventions  by  having  the 
Ghost  narrate  in  retrospection  his  own  lugubrious  tale;  but 
not  content  with  this  recital  and  overcome  by  an  inclination 
toward  the  popular,  the  author  tries  to  present  part  of  this 
story  in  acting  scenes,  in  a  home-coming  from  the  battle 
mentioned.  Naturally,  the  dramatis  personae  only  repeat  in 
broken  discourse  practically  the  same  narration  as  the  Ghost 
has  given. 

During  these  alternating  Spanish  and  Portuguese  court 
scenes,  however,  the  author  has  really  grasped  the  idea  of 
this  play,  and  with  Act  II  sets  out  to  present  it.  Here  what 
is  to  be  the  Elizabethan  English  style  of  structure  definitely 
begins.     The   author  does   not  know  what  to  do  with  a 


68  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Senecan  ghost,  but  he  knows  what  to  do  with  men.  He  will 
present  the  murder  of  Horatio,  Hieronimo's  son,  and  then 
present  Hieronimo's  revenge  for  that  murder!  This  plan 
will  afford  two  favorite  scenes  causally  connected.  But 
the  play,  therefore,  falls  into  two  parts  with  the  close  of 
each  part  marked  by  the  favorite  event — a  killing.  The 
first  division  proceeds  swiftly  and  smoothly  and  not  without 
some  lyric  beauty  through  the  love  episodes  to  the  murder 
in  the  arbor  (Act  H,  Scenes  iv-v).  But  here  things  halt. 
The  Chorus  reveals  again  the  fact  that  the  author  realizes 
that  he  has  not  reached  the  all-important  scene — the  revenge 
deed.  Accordingly  he  promises  that  deed,  and  by  the  prom- 
ise once  more  emphasizes  the  construction  motive  of  his 
drama. 

Yet  in  attempting  to  carry  out  the  punishment  of  the 
murderers  the  author  happens  on  a  fascinating  problem — 
the  hesitation  motive  as  counter-force  to  revenge — and  en- 
grossed with  this  he  blunders  on  from  scene  to  scene,  going 
far  beyond  the  length  of  the  preceding  action  and  really 
making  a  new  play,  the  mad  Hieronimo's  play.  That  "The 
Spanish  Tragedy"  was  popularly  thought  of  as  Hieronimo's 
play  is  attested  by  the  fact  that  it  is  often  so  called.^ 

The  early  emphasis  of  this  figure  by  the  author  and  the 
appreciation  of  it  by  the  public  point  to  the  gradual  emer- 
gence of  the  consciousness  of  another  essential  element  of 
great  tragedy ;  namely,  definite  characterization.  What 
could  be  done  with  this  revenge  motive  as  a  structural  ele- 
ment and  the  madness  and  hesitator  motive  as  character 
themes  is  demonstrated  by  Shakespeare's  ''Hamlet." 

1  In  Henslowe  we  find  "Jeronymo,"  "Geronymo."  In  the  1615 
edition,  "The  Spanish  Tragedy;  or  Hieronimo's  Mad  Again." 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  69 

As  a  result  of  the  study  in  the  present  chapter  we  are 
to  remember  that  we  find  in  early  Elizabethan  imitations 
of  Seneca  one  motive  strongjy  emphasized  and  more  and 
more  convincingly  worked  out  as  the  drama  proceeds  from 
1566  to  1586.  Besides  this  emphasis  of  motive  as  a  con- 
structive line  for  a  tragedy,  there  is  a  wealth  of  material 
indicated  that  very  well  anticipates  the  three  main  divi- 
sions of  later  English  serious  plays ;  namely,  Italian  roman- 
tic passion,  British  historical  legend,  foreign  contemporary 
politics. 

The  Misfortunes  of  Arthur.  British  historical  legend 
finds  it  representative  among  the  Senecan  imitations  in  "The 
Misfortunes  of  Arthur."  Though  this  play  has  not  much 
significance  for  us  in  the  study  of  the  advance  of  the  struc- 
ture of  English  tragedy,  we  might  pause  a  minute  to  note 
its  relative  historical  position.  Its  action  is  a  strife  between 
father  and  son,  and  its  theme  is  the  incest-revenge  motive  of 
Greek  tragedy.  The  play  has  a  wider  sweep  than  either 
'Tancred  and  Gismunda"  or  "The  Spanish  Tragedy,"  and 
it  has  this  sweep  because  of  its  Greek  suggestions.  Indeed, 
in  one  scene  it  presents  the  great  lonely  palace  situation  of 
^schylus's  "Agamemnon,"  which  it  distinctly  recalls.  In 
the  "Agamemnon,"  the  "Choephorae,"  and  the  "Eumenides," 
it  was  ^schylus  himself  who  started  the  very  potent  revenge 
motive  on  its  way.  Seneca  transmits  the  stories,  the  names, 
and  somewhat  of  the  characters  of  Greek  drama.  The  Eliza- 
bethans take  on  the  form,  the  situations,  and  the  construc- 
tion-motive of  the  Greek-Senecan  tradition,  but  they  find 
their  own  material.  The  best  early  example  of  their  finding 
of  their  own  material  is  this  remarkably  good  play  of  "The 


70  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Misfortunes  of  Arthur."  It  is  a  tragedy  that  would  not 
need  to  be  despised  in  any  tongue  and  a  tragedy  that  cer- 
tainly would  not  have  had  so  limited  an  influence  in  any 
drama  less  brilliant  and  hurried  than  the  Elizabethan.  There 
are  some  slight  echoes  in  "Macbeth"  which  we  will  notice 
later.  But  the  truth  about  this  very  regular  and  excellent 
play  is  that  it  was  already,  on  the  day  of  its  presentation, 
a  thing  of  the  past.  In  form  it  was  "of  the  old  school."' 
It  was  out-classed  and  out-influenced  by  a  robustious  fellow 
of  the  public  boards. 


Chapter  IV 
The  Protagonist 

The  fact  that  Ben  Jonson's  additions  to  "The  Spanish 
Tragedy"  in  1601-02  took  the  form  of  the  expansion  of  the 
part  of  Hieronimo  reveals  the  recognition  of  the  shifting 
of  emphasis  that  had  occurred  in  the  preceding  fifteen  years 
or  so.  The  name  that  stands  for  this  shifting  is  that  of 
Christopher  Marlowe.  He  was  the  dramatist  who  first 
in  English  tragedy  definitely  and  almost  exclusively  empha- 
sized the  protagonist,  or  chief  struggler.  Tamburlaine, 
Dr.  Faustus,  and  Barabas  are  interesting  personalities  in 
themselves,  regardless  of  what  they  specifically  do.  They 
are  interesting  rather  for  what  they  want  to  do.  It  is  the 
actuating  purpose  of  their  lives  that  attracted  Marlowe. 
Loudly  disclaiming  dependence  on  the  past,  Marlowe  yet 
seized  the  most  effective  structural  element  that  the  past 
had  evolved,  and  built  his  plays  on  it.  He  transmuted 
the  abstract  wish  of  a  bloodless  ghost  into  a  life  principle 
of  a  militant  personality.  Tamburlaine  is  the  embodiment 
of  the  lust  of  power,  Faustus  of  knowledge,  and  Barabas 
of  gold  and  vengeance. 

The  unconscious  shifting  of  the  dramatic  motive  from 
the  heart  of  a  ghost  to  the  heart  of  a  man  had  been  made 
in  "The  Spanish  Tragedy,"  and  had  been  part  cause  of 
a  remarkable  success.     What  might  not   Marlowe  expect 

71 


12  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

from  a  deliberate  embodiment?  Hieronimo's  seeking  for 
vengeance  was  not  the  full  hatred  of  a  passionate  soul,  but 
Marlowe's  protagonists  live  and  breathe  only  in  their  desires. 
Such  emphasis  easily  results  in  caricature,  as  it  resulted  in 
Marlowe's  own  Merchant  Jew.  Yet  the  emphasis  served 
our  drama  well.  After  Marlowe,  no  tragic  character  dared 
be  purposeless.  By  this  statement  I  do  not  mean  that  Mar- 
lowe understood  or  practiced  a  full  motivation  of  character. 
Such  exquisite  work  was  left  for  our  greatest  dramatist; 
but  Marlowe  did  understand  and  practice  the  motivation  of 
a  series  of  events  by  embodying  in  a  typical  personality  an 
ardent  passion.  The  protagonists  of  Marlowe's  dramas  are 
startling  and  potent.  How  far  the  presence  of  Edward 
Alleyn  as  a  possible  "Tamburlaine"  inspired  Marlowe's 
first  production  we  do  not  know,  or  how  far  Marlowe's 
production  inspired  Edward  Alleyn  to  be  a  great  tragedian, 
we  do  not  know ;  but  history  is  certain  of  the  fact  that 
Tamburlaine  and  Alleyn  climbed  to  glory  together.  Part 
of  Marlowe's  conception  of  an  overpowering  personality 
might  have  come  from  Alleyn's  physique.  Alleyn  was 
almost  seven  feet  tall,  and  it  is  not  impossible  that  Mar- 
lowe's description  of  Tamburlaine  is  also  a  description  of 
Alleyn.  From  physical  greatness  we  involuntarily  expect 
great  deeds: 

"Of  stature  tall,  and  straightly  fashioned 
Like  his  desire  lift  upward  and  divine; 
So  large  of  limbs,  his  joints  so  strongly  knit, 
Such  breadth  of  shoulders  as  might  mainly  bear 
Old  Atlas's  burthen." 

Tamburlaine.     The  play  of  "Tamburlaine"  is  a  succession 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  73 

of  scenes,  each  scene  more  turbulent  than  the  preceding, 
with  the  most  impressive  coming  last  in  Part  I,  and  toward 
the  last  in  Part  11.  The  deeds  of  the  protagonist  do  not 
react  upon  him  to  his  destruction,  in  the  sense  of  measure 
for  measure.  He  dies,  the  progress  of  his  pomp  cut  off 
simply  by  death,  which  comes  in  the  natural  course  of  dis- 
ease. His  end  is  fitting,  however,  since  he  has  called  himself 
the  scourge  of  Jove  and  at  last  finds  himself  subject  instead 

I  I   of  monarch ;  but  his  catastrophe  is  not  punishment,   since 
/    it  is  the  lot  of  all  men,  good  or  bad,  to  die.     Tamburlaine 
dies  with  his  lust  of  power  unsatisfied. 

The  play  has  unity  of  a  crude  kind,  although  Marlowe 
was  oblivious  to  Greek  ideals  and  had  set  himself  against 

\^/  Senecan  conventions.  His  unity  comes  from  the  presence 
of  a  central  figure  with  an  all-absorbing  passion.  Marlowe 
had  the  art  of  establishing  a  thorough  understanding 
between  the  hearers  and  his  protagonist.  'Tamburlaine" 
begins  with  the  situation  in  Persia  and  with  the  "conceived 
grief"  of  the  king,  which  is: 

"God  knows,  about  that  Tamburlaine, 
That,  like  a  fox  in  midst  of  harvest  time, 
Doth  prey  upon  my  flocks  of  passengers; 
And,  as  I  hear,  doth  mean  to  pull  my  plumes. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Daily  commits  uncivil  outrages. 
Hoping  (misled  by  dreaming  prophecies) 
To  reign  in  Asia,  and  with  barbarous  arms. 
To  make  himself  the  monarch  of  the  East." 

Scene  2,  accordingly,  is  a  well-executed  presentation  of  the 
Scythian  highwayman  holding  up  the  convoy  of  the  fair 


74  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Zenocrate,  and  immediately  demanding  her  person.  When 
she  hesitates  over  how  to  address  him,  and  stammers  out, 
"My  lord,"  he  says: 

"I  am  a  lord,  for  so  my  deeds  shall  prove: 
And  yet  a  shepherd  by  my  parentage. 
But  lady,  this  fair  face  and  heavenly  hue 
Must  grace  his  bed  that  conquers  Asia, 
And  means  to  be  a  terror  to  the  world, 
Measuring  the  limits  of  his  empery 
By  East  and  West,  as  Phoebus  doth  his 
course. 

"And,  madam,  v^hatsoever  you  esteem 
Of  this  success  and  loss  unvalued, 
Both  may  invest  you  empress  of  the  East ; 
And  these  that  seem  but  silly  country  swains 
May  have  the  leading  of  so  great  an  host 
As  with  their  weight  shall  make  the  nations 

quake, 
Even  as  when  windy  exhalations 
Fighting,  for  passage,  tilt  within  the  earth." 

After  such  high  terms  we  expect  great  deeds.  The  mo- 
tive that  directs  them  enters  in  Act  II,  Scene  5,  just  after 
Tamburlaine,  who  up  to  this  time  has  been  but  the  leader 
of  an  army  that  makes  and  unmakes  kings,  has  put  the 
Persian  crown  on  the  head  of  Cosroe,  the  brother  of  the 
Persian  king.  The  words  are  inadvertently  spoken  by  one 
of  Cosroe's  followers  in  reply  to  Cosroe's  impatience  to  sit 
upon  his  brother's  throne: 

"Your  majesty  shall  shortly  have  your  wish 
And  ride  in  triumph  through  Persepolis." 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  75 

Tamburlaine  catches  up  the  word.  *'Ride  in  triumph 
through  PersepoHs,"  he  keeps  repeating  to  himself.  And 
**Is  it  not  brave  to  be  a  king?" 

"Why  then,  Cosroe,  shall  we  wish  for  aught 
The  world  affords  in  greatest  novelty, 
And  rest  attemptless,  faint,  and  destitute? 
Methinks  we  should  not:    I  am  strongly 

moved 
That  if  I  should  desire  the  Persian  crown, 
I  could  attain  it  with  a  wondrous  ease." 

From  here  on  we  have  the  irresistible  swing  of  the  one 
mighty  passion — "The  thirst  of  reign  and  sweetness  of  a 
crown."  The  scenes  rise  in  increasing  truculence  and  in 
spectacular  effect  from  that  where  the  conqueror  steps  to 
his  throne  with  his  foot  on  the  back  of  the  victim,  to  the 
celebrated  one  where  he  rides  on  the  stage  in  a  chariot  drawn 
by  the  four  king^  of  Asia.  The  poetry,  too,  rises  to  real 
grandeur : 

"The  horse  that  guide  the  golden  eye  of  Heaven, 
And  blow  the  morning  from  their  nostrils, 
Making,  their  fiery  gait  above  the  clouds. 
Are  not  so  honoured  in  their  governor. 
As  you,  ye  slaves,  in  mighty  Tamburlaine." 

II :  IV.  sc.  4. 

But  Marlowe's  absorption  with  the  person  and  motive  of 
this  his  first  play,  resulted  in  a  reversion  to  a  non- 
dramatic  type  in  the  catastrophe.  As  we  have  said,  Tam- 
burlaine's  death  is  a  natural  one,  and  not  consequent  upon 
his  deeds.  Hieronimo's  is  consequent,  and  hence  the  more 
dramatic.     Therefore   "The   Spanish   Tragedy"   continued 


le  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

to  divide  the  stage  with  'Tamburlaine."  If  a  playwright 
meant  to  surpass  these  two  popular  pieces,  it  would  be  neces- 
sary for  him  to  combine  the  strong  elements  of  both. 

**Tamburlaine"  was  productive  of  much  imitation,  com- 
ment, praise,  and  parody,  a  result  that  in  itself  helped  pre- 
cipitate the  dramatic  contribution.  Peele,  or  whoever  it  was 
who  wrote  'The  Battle  of  Alcazar,"  found  in  Stukely  a 
bragging  adventurer  of  Tamburlaine  color,  with  the  advan- 
tage that  Stukely  was  British ;  but  Peele  failed  to  make 
his  character  structurally  potent.  Indeed,  Stukely  is  not  the 
protagonist  of  'The  Battle  of  Alcazar."  There  is  no 
protagonist  in  the  Marlowean  sense  of  the  word.  Mooly 
Mohamet  the  Moor  is  certainly  of  greater  importance  to  the 
action  than  is  Stukely,  yet  Stukely  is  the  interesting  figure. 
Peele  had  not  learned  the  real  lesson  of  the  new  rebel  poet. 
Perhaps  1592  was  somewhat  early  for  the  lesson  to  be  well 
learned ;  yet  the  next  year  gives  us  Shakespeare's  "Richard 
III."  Peek's  contributive  ability  proved  to  lie  in  another 
realm  than  that  of  tragedy.  However,  Peele  has  the  credit 
of  doing  what  Marlowe  did  not  do  in  his  first  tragedy ;  that 
is,  Peele  clung  to  the  traditional,  strong  catastrophe. 
Stukely  is  stabbed  both  by  enemies  and  traitorous  friends. 
Marlowe  proved  that  his  pulses  beat  with  those  of  the 
people,  nevertheless,  even  if  he  at  first  overlooked  the  ad- 
vantage of  a  catastrophe  at  the  end  of  his  play.  He  gave 
the  spectator  such  a  series  of  startling  situations  as  had 
never  before  been  witnessed. 

Doctor  Faustus.  In  his  next  tragedy  Marlowe,  recogniz- 
ing the  popular  liking  for  a  catastrophe,  chose  dramatic 
material  that  yielded  a  time-honored  spectacle.     The  con- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  11 

elusion  of  his  ''Doctor  Faustus"  is  effectively  drawn.  It 
had  for  Marlowe's  age  a  tremendous  tragic  significance. 
The  theme  of  the  play  has  had  a  fascination  for  mankind 
probably  always,  and  in  historical  record  at  least  since  the 
sixth  century.  '.  Marlowe's  originality  lay  in  his  choice  of 
this  well-known  legend  for  dramatic  treatment  and  in  his 
emphasis  of  the  impelling  force  of  an  arrogant  intellectual 
personality  as  a  structural  motive  of  tragedy.  The  very 
idea  of  an  insatiable  lust  for  knowledge  is  at  once  captivat- 
ing and  tragic.  Marlowe  rose  to  the  grand  possibilities  of 
his  conception  only  in  places,  but  those  are  beautiful  in 
both  thought  and  poetry,  one  surpassingly  so — all  beautiful 
enough  to  hold  the  jaded  reader  of  the  present  day  and 
effective  enough  to  have  established  themselves  in  literature.^ 
We  have  in  Marlowe's  "Faustus"  an  element  of  the  Sen- 
ecan  drama  in  the  presence  of  a  chorus,  elements  of  the 
moralities  in  the  Seven  Deadly  Sins  and  in  the  objectifying 
of  Faustus's  conscience  as  good  and  bad  angels.  We  have 
Marlowe's  genius  at  its  best  and  worst :  at  its  best  in  the 
beginning,  the  Helen-of-Troy  scene,  and  the  catastrophe ;  at 
its  worst,  in  episodes  that  take  the  place  of  what  should 
have  carried  the  action  up  to  a  noble  presentation  of  knowl- 
edge as  power.  Instead  of  a  rise  to  a  high  point,  how- 
ever, we  are  offered  the  dreary  vulgarity  of  performances 
bidding  for  the  applause  of  the  groundlings.  The  explana- 
tion of  the  failure  may  lie  in  the  fact  that  crisis  and  climax 

*  cf .  Goethe's  Faust  in  his  study  at  Wittenberg  with  Faustus 
in  his. 

cf.  "Rich.  II,"  Act  IV,  sc.  i,  with  Faustus.  Sc.  XIV,  281  ff: 
"Was  this  the  fact,"  etc. 

cf.  "Troilus  and  Cressida"  Act  II;  Sc.  i,  "She  is  a  pearl 
whose  price  has  launched  a  thousand  ships." 


78  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

as  elements  of  structure  were  not  yet  conceived.  We  have 
up  to  this  time  clear  emphasis  only  of  the  protagonist  and 
his  motive,  in  addition  to  the  catastrophe. 

The  Jew  of  Malta.  The  criticism  that  is  generally  made 
of  Marlowe's  Barabas  is  a  mild  disparagement  to  the  effect 
that  he  did  not  turn  out  to  be  Shakespeare's  Shylock.  But 
that  is  exactly  what  he  did  turn  out  to  be!  The  passion- 
driven  Jew  of  the  passion-driven  Marlowe  became  in  the 
heart  and  mind  of  the  sunnier  Shakespeare  a  human  being. 
He  failed,  however,  to  be  the  structural  line  of  the  drama. 
The  later  play  is  rightly  called  from  the  point  of  view  of 
structure  "The  Merchant  of  Venice,"  but  from  the  point  of 
view  of  character-study  it  would,  of  course,  be  correct  to 
call  it  ''Shylock,"  after  its  greatest  personality.  But  that 
is  just  the  issue  here:  Marlowe's  emphasis  made  possible 
such  character-presentations  as  Richard  III,  Richard  II, 
Shylock,  Macbeth,  lago,  and  King  Lear.  We  can  not 
imagine  these  as  coming  before  Marlowe's  work.  To  say 
that  Shakespeare  would  not  have  developed  without  Mar- 
lowe is,  of  course,  to  talk  nonsense;  but  to  say  that  he 
would  have  developed  without  Marlowe  in  just  the  way  he 
did  develop  is  equally  to  talk  nonsense.  It  is  the  mark  of 
Shakespeare's  genius  that  he  learned  the  lesson  of  his  prede- 
cessors and  contemporaries  and  added  his  own  contributions 
to  theirs  to  make  up  the  body  of  English  dramatic  technic. 
If  he  had  not  added,  he  would  not  have  been  surpassingly 
great.  But  he  learned  of  the  greatest  and  added  to  the 
greatest  in  the  greatest  way,  and  no  one  has  as  yet  gone 
beyond  him.  The  question  naturally  is  whether  anyone  can 
go  beyond   him,    whether   the   combined    Marlowean   and 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  79 

Shakespearean  genius  did  not  give  us,  all  in  all,  the  greatest 
protagonists  and  plays  we  shall  ever  see. 

Edivard  II.  Critics  since  Charles  Lamb's  day  have  pretty 
generally  agreed  that  the  catastrophe  of  "Edward  11"  is 
one  of  the  most  intense  of  Elizabethan  catastrophes  (it  occu- 
pies practically  the  whole  of  Act  V)  and  is,  to  some  readers, 
as  productive  of  "pity  and  fear"  as  almost  any  in  the 
world.  Nor  does  it  fail  of  being  consequent  upon  person- 
ality.   It  comes  about  thus : 

Edward  has  not  practiced  consistent  dominance  over  his 
nobles,  but  through  alternate  yielding  and  defiance  has  made 
them  bold  and  traitorous.  Self-indulgent  to  the  extent  of 
continual  neglect  of  duty,  he  has  risen  at  last  to  action  only 
for  a  personal  reason — to  avenge  the  death  of  his  minion, 
not  to  forward  the  good  of  his  realm  or  to  vindicate  his 
fundamental  right  of  kinghood.  He  wins  the  battles,  but 
his  personality  costs  him  the  ultimate  victory.  He  consist- 
ently follows  neither  of  two  plans,  one  of  which  a  strong 
king  would  have  followed.  We  can  imagine  a  magnanimous 
warrior  after  he  had  proved  his  right  to  do  as  he  pleased 
forgiving  the  rebels  and  winning  them  to  his  support  by 
ofifering  them  preferment  and  participation  in  reformation 
they  would  approve.  H  this  happy  result  were  impossible 
both  because  of  his  disposition  and  theirs,  a  provident  king 
would  have  sent  the  arch-rebel  Mortimer  to  the  block,  as 
well  as  the  others.  But  Edward  follows  neither  of  these 
consistent  plans.  He  sends  some  to  the  block,  but  commits 
Mortimer  to  the  Tower,  whence  he  escapes,  flees  to  France, 
comes  back  with  the  Queen  and  the  Young  Prince  and  com- 
passes Edward's  death.    Yet  Edward,  with  all  his  mistakes, 


80  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

is  not  unheroic,  and  his  end  is  tragic  and  characteristically 
final.  His  destruction  is  accomplished  in  three  steps :  ( i ) 
the  capture  in  the  abbey;  (2)  the  forced  surrender  of  the 
crown  at  Kenilworth;  (3)  the  murder  in  the  dungeon  at 
Berkeley  Castle. 

In  addition  to  emphasizing  the  protagonist,  Marlowe  had 
demonstrated  in  'Taustus,"  in  the  ''Jevj  of  Malta,"  and  in 
"Edward  11"  that  the  end  of  a  tragedy  should  appear  inevi- 
table and  consonant  with  personality.  To  realize  what 
Marlowe's  emphasis  of  a  central  figure  with  a  persistent 
passion  did  for  the  structure  of  chronicle  material  one  should 
read  Bale's  "Kynge  Johan,"  Preston's  "Cambises,"  and 
Peele's  "Edward  I."  There  is  a  title  figure  in  each  of  these 
dramatic  stories,  but  he  is  not  individualized.  The  first  is 
representative  of  religious  tenets ;  the  second,  as  we  have 
seen,  has  no  motives ;  and  the  third  is  merely  a  name  to  hold 
a  string  of  incidents  together.  Marlowe's  incidents,  espe- 
cially in  "Edward  II,"  are  pertinent.  Moreover,  to  reiterate: 
his  catastrophes  are  those  of  marked  personalities. 

Shakespeare  accepted  this  conclusion  about  the  protago- 
nist and  the  relation  of  the  catastrophe  to  the  rest  of  the 
play,  and  turned  his  attention  toward  extending  the  idea. 
The  growth  of  his  art  shows  the  development  of  the  pre- 
sentation of  personality  into  the  presentation  of  character. 
Just  as  Marlowe's  name  stands  among  other  things  for  the 
change  of  stage  figures  to  stage  personages,  so  Shakespeare's 
stands  for  the  change  of  stage  personages  into  stage  human 
beings,  brothers  of  us  all.  If  our  accepted  sequence  of 
Shakespeare's  plays  be  correct,  there  is  observable  a  grow- 
ing consciousness  of  niceties  of  structure  very  interesting. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  81 

We  will  notice  in  this  chapter  only  "Titus  Andronicus," 
"King  John,"  and  "Richard  III,"  and  these  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  development  of  the  protagonist. 

Titus  Andronicus.  In  the  working  over  of  older  material 
that  resulted  in  the  play  of  "Titus  Andronicus,"  there  w^as 
brought  a  sort  of  unity  to  the  epic  succession  of  incidents 
by  the  emphasis  of  the  revenge  motive  and  the  fact  that 
the  principal  persons  remain  the  same,  though  one  after  the 
other  becomes  the  perpetrator  of  the  revenge. 

Just  how  much  Shakespeare  had  to  do  with  the  structure 
of  this  once  very  popular  tragedy,  no  one  has  as  yet  satis- 
factorily demonstrated.  His  part  has  been  assigned  to  indi- 
vidual lines  and  short  passages,  rather  poetic  than  dramatic 
contributions.  In  the  light  of  "Hamlet,"  an  interesting 
"aside"  of  Titus's  is  this: 

"I  know  them  all,  though  they  suppose  me  mad, 
And  will  o'er-reach  them  in  their  own  devices." 

The  lovemaking  of  Tamora  and  Aaron  recalls  that  of 
Belimperia  and  Horatio.  Aaron  himself  recalls  Ithamore  in 
his  diction  as  well  as  in  his  villainy. 

The  superiority  of  "Titus  Andronicus"  to  many  ante- 
cedent plays  is  found  in  the  management  of  the  motives 
and  in  the  situations,  a  bit  of  technical  skill  we  should 
expect  to  find  by  1589.  The  memorable  stage  picture,  of 
course,  is  that  where  Lavinia  writes  in  the  sand  with  a  stick 
held  in  her  mouth  and  guided  with  her  stumps  of  arms. 

King  John.  King  John  is  not  the  protagonist  of  the 
chronicle  play  that  bears  his  name.  There  is  no  protago- 
nist in  the  sense  of  any  one  man  who  causes  the  action. 


82  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Shakespeare's  work  with  the  antecedent  material  in  the 
"Troublesome  Reign  of  King  John"  seems  to  have  been 
the  condensing  of  ten  acts  into  five,  the  omitting  of  the 
comic  scenes,  the  refining  of  characters,  and  the  elaboration 
of  the  portrait  of  Falconbridge.^  This  analysis  accords  with 
what  appears  to  have  been  the  progress  of  technic  in  Eng- 
lish tragedy  up  to  the  restaging  of  this  old  play.  Shake- 
speare's additions  show  the  focusing  of  attention  on 
portraits.  The  explanation  of  the  vogue  of  the  chronicle 
plays  as  a  type  might  almost  be  summed  up  in  the  two 
words  "story"  and  "portraits." 

RicJmrd  III.  At  about  the  same  time  as  the  redoing  of 
the  "Troublesome  Reign,"  Shakespeare  produced  "Richard 
III,"  a  Alarlowean  protagonist's  play.  Indeed,  it  may  have 
been  written  with  a  composition  by  Marlowe  as  immediate 
foundation.  It  has  his  characteristics,  and  we  need  notice 
them  here  again  but  slightly. 

There  is  the  protagonist  absorbing  all  the  interest,  doing 
most  of  the  talking,  occasioning  all  the  action.  He  comes 
upon  the  scene  precisely  at  the  beginning,  and  boldly  an- 
nounces his  motive  and  intended  villainy.  He  has  proved 
to  be  a  popular  protagonist  ever  since  his  first  utterance. 
His  part  has  been  the  favorite  role  of  many  great  actors. 
His  astounding  impudence  and  princely  success,  despite  his 
ill-formed  body  (which  in  another  person  would  naturally 
cause  self-conscious  timidity)  take  the  spectators  by  sur- 
prise and  win  their  "admiration" — in  the  Elizabethan  sense 
of  the  word.  The  singleness  in  the  effect  of  the  play  results 
from  the  consistency  of  the  protagonist's  motive  and  per- 

1  Cambridge  Editors  and  A.  W.  Ward. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  83 

sonality,  and  from  the  fact  that  he  is  actually  on  the  stage 
in  four-fifths  of  the  scenes.  Those  from  which  he  is  absent 
are  merely  the  short  connecting  ones  and  the  murder  of 
Clarence.  Richard  mounts  highest  at  the  coronation  (Act 
III,  Scene  7).  From  there  on  his  murders  are  attempts  to 
secure  himself.  He  is  finally  brought  to  his  death  through 
the  open  resistance  of  Richmond  at  Bosworth  Field.  The 
revolt  begins  (IV,  2)  passively  when  Buckingham  refuses 
to  echo  the  king's  wish  for  the  death  of  the  princes,  and 
when  Dorset  flees  to  Richmond;  but  there  is  no  changing 
of  dominance.  Richard  is  still  Richard.  He  goes  on  to  the 
murder  of  the  princes  and  the  wooing  of  Elizabeth.  There 
is  thus  seemingly  still  an  outward  flow  of  the  action  from 
the  protagonist  to  the  world,  but  there  is  in  reality  a  deep 
undertow  from  the  world  back  upon  the  protagonist  draw- 
ing, him  down.  The  unity  of  the  effect  is  secure,  however, 
because  of  the  delayed  appearance  of  the  antagonist. 

That  word  antagonist  is  one  to  contemplate  in  the  struc- 
ture of  English  tragedy.  We  will  devote  our  next  chapter 
to  it.  One  can  not  talk  long  of  Shakespeare's  protagonists 
without  considering  also  their  antagonists.  The  chief  per- 
sonages, like  people  in  real  life,  are  what  they  are,  not 
only  because  of  themselves  and  their  own  motives,  but  also 
largely  because  of  supporters  and  opponents. 

So  much  has  been  written  of  Shakespeare's  protagonists 
in  the  way  of  character-study  that  we  may  well  forego  the 
pleasant  exercise  of  repetition,  and  may  cling  more  closely 
to  the  less  familiar  matter  of  the  bare  structure  of  the 
pieces.  More  important  for  us  in  this  connection  is  the 
counter-play  and  the  antagonist.     Between  ''Richard  III" 


84  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

and  ''Macbeth,"  both  presenting  murderers,  there  is  as  great 
a  difference  in  technic  as  there  is  in  the  portraits  of  the 
men.  Between  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  and  "Antony  and  Cleo- 
patra" there  is  as  great  a  difference  in  the  action  of  the 
two  plays  as  there  is  in  the  complexity  of  the  passions  re- 
vealed. Yet  the  difference  in  both  cases  is  one  of  change 
on  the  part  of  the  public  as  well  as  of  the  dramatist,  and 
results  from  a  shifting  of  attention  on  points  of  structure, 
concomitant  with  the  development  of  a  philosophy  of 
character. 

With  "Richard  III"  we  leave  what  may  be  called  dis- 
tinctly Marlowesque  structure  in  English  tragedy,  the  over- 
powering presence  of  a  single  character.  The  device  of  a 
central  figure  was  clearly  emphasized  by  1593,  and  no 
dramatist  thereafter  could  be  oblivious  to  its  peculiar  advan- 
tages, especially  in  the  way  of  apparent  unity;  yet  mani- 
festly also  there  was  something  lacking.  Shakespeare  had 
come  across  it  at  the  close  of  the  Richard  III  tragedy,  and 
he  chose  to  deal  with  it  in  "Richard  11." 


Chapter  V 
The  Antagonist  and  the  Action 

To  dramatists  who  were  also  writing  intricate  and 
sprightly  comedies  a  one-man  tragedy  would  of  necessity 
seem  juvenile  if  not  tame.  It  would  lack  interesting  com- 
plications however  truculent  the  scenes  might  be.  Besides, 
there  was  a  potent  fact  that  worked  against  the  one-man 
action,  namely,  the  sources  of  the  plots  of  the  plays.  There 
are  few  stories  concerned  with  simply  one  masterful  man, 
especially  among  the  stories  from  which  the  Elizabethans 
drew  their  material:  the  English  Chronicles,  Plutarch's 
Lives,  and  Italian  novelle.  In  addition  to  the  fact  that  the 
stage  Tamburlaines  are  hardly  natural  in  their  general  char- 
acter, such  a  sweeping  progress  of  tyranny  seems  untrue; 
for  an  attempt  at  masterfulness  usually  arouses  adequate 
opposition,  and  not  necessarily  in  unworthy  men.  Shake- 
speare found  this  truth  staring  him  in  the  face  when  he 
came  to  the  end  of  the  Richard  III  story.     ^'Richard  11"  is 

his  recognition  of  the  fact.^ 

"Richard  HI"  is  the  first  tragedy  in  which  the  opponent 
to  the  protagonist  is  of  equal  importance  in  the  catastrophe. 
There  we  see  Richmond  asleep  in  his  tent  as  Richard  is  in 
his,  visited  by  the  same  ghosts  as  Richard  is,  and  spoken 

ijf  we  should  consider  Shakespeare  to  have  been  at  all 
intimately  connected  with  the  Henry  VI  plays,  we  might  say 
that  they  represent,  besides  an  interest  m  story  and  portrait, 
a  sort  of  primer  study  in  antagonism. 

85 


86  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

to  alternately  by  them  with  only  the  difference  that  Richard 
is  cursed  and  Richmond  blessed.  The  source  of  the  play  is 
responsible  for  the  fact  that  Richmond  (who  is  to  become 
Henry  VII  on  that  battlefield)  receives  unusual  considera- 
tion; but  Shakespeare  chose  the  method  of  making  him 
prominent.  In  true  Marlowean  style  Shakespeare  excluded 
any  idea  of  remorse  or  twinges  of  conscience  from  the  gen- 
eral course  of  the  action,  but  here  with  the  ghosts  he  brings 
in  a  slight  touch.  This  was  the  popular  method  of  indicat- 
ing a  man's  perturbation — to  have  him  see  the  ghosts  of  his 
victims.  It  was  also  a  Senecan  convention — at  least  the 
appearance  and  the  retrospective  narrative  of  beings  from 
the  other  world  were  Senecan.  As  I  have  tried  to  show, 
the  Elizabethans  from  their  ancestry  already  had  a  sense  of 
the  tragic  and  a  liking  for  thrilling  situation  even  before  the 
Senecan  influence;  but  reinforced  by  Seneca  and  the  Ital- 
ian novelle  the  public  taste  inclined  more  and  more  toward 
the  horrible  and  the  gruesome.  With  their  heavier  imagina- 
tions and  their  lively  sense  of  the  dramatic,  the  English 
spectators  preferred  to  see  the  thing  done,  whatever  it  was — 
murder  or  torture  or  battle.  Shakespeare  indulged  them 
to  the  full  in  this  play. 

"Tamburlaine"  had  given  them  the  torture  and  the  battles, 
but  not  the  plotted  murder ;  "Faustus"  had  offered  a  sight  of 
demons  from  the  other  world,  but  no  battle;  the  "J^w  of 
Malta"  had  afforded  the  plotted  murder,  but  no  protracted 
philosophical  discussion  and  torture  at  the  same  time:  the 
Jew  was  simply  precipitated  into  his  own  cauldron.  "Edward 
11"  had  set  forth  the  torture  and  the  battles  but  no  ghost. 
"Richard  III,"  however,  offered  them  all — the  tortures  ac- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  87 

companied  with  sententious  argument,  the  plotted  murder, 
the  ghosts,  and  the  battle.  No  wonder  the  play  was  popu- 
lar! Moreover,  it  was  founded  on  the  beloved  chronicle 
history,  presenting  a  national  figure,  a  great  personality 
taking  great  hazards  and  dying  bravely.    The  scene  (V.  4) 

"A  horse !  a  horse !  my  kingdom  for  a  horse !" 

could  not  be  surpassed  for  thrilling  and  desperate  bravado. 
And  finally  there  was  the  ring  of  patriotism  about  the  end- 
ing of  the  play. 

The  significant  fact  for  future  structure  was,  however, 
that  Richmond  went  forth  alive.  In  that  fact  there  was  a 
Senecan-Greek  convention,  and  the  atmosphere  of  more 
story  to  come.  Of  course,  the  ending  was  to  an  extent  im- 
posed by  the  source;  but  so  were  the  endings  of  the  Greek 
and  Senecan  plays.  The  personages  of  the  old  dramas 
were  no  less  known  and  their  characteristics  no  less  fixed 
in  the  common  consciousness  than  were  those  of  the  new. 
Indeed,  the  heroes  of  Greek  myth  and  tradition  were  better 
known  to  ancient  audiences  than  were  England's  historical 
personages  to  the  Elizabethans.  Besides,  what  an  author 
chooses  for  his  subject  somewhat  reveals  his  idea  of  possible 
treatment;  he  realizes  the  difficulties  at  least  before  he  has 
finished.     Schiller  realized  them  in  "Wallenstein." 

What  I  am  trying  to  point  out  is  that  Shakespeare  adopted 
in  the  "Richard  III"  catastrophe  a  slight  Senecan  conven- 
tion, and  may  well  have  begun  right  there  to  think  of 
tragedy  not  merely  as  a  chronicle  story  with  deaths  in  it 
but  as  representing  a  struggle.  The  mediaeval  idea  had  been 
the  "falling  out  of  high  degree";  but  Shakespeare  could 


88  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

perceive  by  looking  at  Seneca  that  the  older  and  more 
truly  tragic  idea  included  also  a  struggle  with  powers  out- 
side man  and  embodied  in  a  definite  personality.  Marlowe 
had  represented  Mortimer  as  the  opponent  of  King  Edward 
II ;  but  Marlowe,  after  he  had  presented  the  death  of  Ed- 
ward, followed  it  with  the  death  of  Mortimer,  in  what  critics 
indulgently  call  a  little  "epilog."  Ideally  the  play  of  "Ed- 
ward 11"  ends  with  the  king's  death,  but  not  actually.  Mar- 
lowe (in  some  ways  the  most  dramatic  and  in  some  ways 
the  most  undramatic  but  surely  the  most  obstinate  and  indi- 
vidual of  our  early  playwrights)  chose  to  add  another  trag- 
edy, the  execution  of  Mortimer.  This  is  truly  an  epic  con- 
vention, no  matter  how  dramatic  the  addition  may  intrin- 
sically be.  Marlowe  himself  felt  the  new  matter  as  another 
play,  for  he  makes  the  queen  remark  when  she  sees  the 
opposition  to  Mortimer,  "Now,  Mortimer,  begins  our  trag- 
edy." The  young  king  Edward  III  appears,  therefore,  as  a 
new  protagonist  and  sends  Mortimer  to  the  gallows  and  the 
queen  to  the  Tower.  He  also  calls  for  Mortimer's  head, 
which  is  cut  off  and  brought  in.  Edward  unites  the  two 
plays  somewhat,  however,  by  placing  on  his  father's  hearse 
the  head  of  his  father's  chief  enemy. 

Tt  has  been  remarked  as  another  significant  variation  from 
Marlowe  that  Shakespeare  weaves  Nemesis  into  his  play  by 
means  of  Margaret's  prophecies  as  well  as  by  the  presence 
of  the  final  ghosts.  Margaret  is  another  touch  of  ancient 
tragedy,  and  Shakespeare  seems  to  have  caught  the  real 
dramatic  function  of  the  old  choruses,  although  he  does  not 
write  Margaret's  part  in  the  conventional  form.  He  seems 
to  have  caught  the  idea  better  than  Marlowe  caught  it  in 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  89 

"Faustus" ;  for  in  "Faustus"  all  that  is  said  by  the  Chorus 
except  the  last  stanza  is  narration. 

One  more  fact  that  testifies  to  Shakespeare's  possible 
attention  to  Senecan  matters  at  this  early  date  in  his  pro- 
duction of  tragedies  is  the  description  of 

"the  melancholy  flood 
With  that  grim   ferryman  which  poets  write  of/ 

that  we  find  Clarence  giving  as  his  dream  just  before  his 
murder. 

If  I  were  called  on  to  name  the  first  thing  that  marks 
oflf  Shakespearean  technic  from  what  went  before  and  what 
came  after,  I  should  say :  the  development  of  the  antagonist.^ 
Shakespearean  structure  forms  a  distinct  contribution  to 
the  world's  tragedy.  The  result  was  brought  about  by  a 
two-fold  process,  the  conservation  of  all  that  had  been 
gained  in  English  practice  and  a  return  to  the  best  in  Seneca 
together  with  very  definite  and  new  emphasis.  Accompany- 
ing Shakespeare's  study  was  the  gradual  perfection  of  his 
own  peculiar  gift,  inimitable  character-revelation.  I  am 
not  afraid  of  the  word  "study"  in  connection  with  Shake- 
speare's name.  Every  sane  man  studies  to  improve  his 
powers:  and  Shakespeare  was  eminently  sane.  Moreover, 
the  evidence  that  he  studied  structure  is  clear  in  his  plays 
themselves.  Many  explanations  may  be  given  of  this  evo- 
lution of  technic,  and  many  factors,  no  doubt,  entered  into 
it;  but  we  are  concerned  here  not  so  much  with  the  reason 
of  the  evolution  as  with  the  fact  of  the  evolution. 

Two  title-pages  of  "Richard  III,"  that  of  the  Quarto 

*  Kyd's  Lorenzo  might  possibly  be  considered  a  foreshadow- 
ing of  the  antagonist. 


90  THE  EVOLUTION  PF  TECHNIC 

of  1597  and  that  of  the  Folio  of  1623,  reveal  a  change  in 
dramatic  consciousness.  The  Quarto  reads:  'The  Trag- 
edy of  King  Richard  the  Third.  Containing,  His  treacher- 
ous Plots  against  his  brother,  Clarence;  the  tyrannical 
usurpation,  with  the  whole  course  of  his  detested  life,  and 
most  deserved  death.  As  it  hath  been  lately  acted  by  the," 
etc.  The  First  and  Second  Folios  read:  'The  Tragedy  of 
Richard  the  Third:  with  the  Landing  of  Earle  Richmond, 
and  the  Battle  of  Bosworth  Field."  There  were  about  two 
hundred  lines  added  in  the  Folio,  but  none  directly  con- 
cerned with  the  emphasis  of  Richmond.  What  had  changed 
was  not  Shakespeare's  play,  but  the  attention  of  the  audi- 
ence. People  were  trained  by  this  time  to  look  for  the 
antagonist,  whether  the  changed  title  was  consciously  meant 
to  reveal  that  fact  or  not. 

In  "Richard  III"  the  appearance  of  the  conquering  antago- 
nist is  delayed.  Richmond  first  enters  in  Act  V,  Scene  2. 
The  whole  act  is  very  short — about  457  lines;  but  since 
these  are  divided  almost  equally  between  the  two  contestants, 
Richmond  gets  a  good  deal  of  emphasis.  He  is  mentioned 
likewise  with  increasing  prominence  from  Act  IV,  Scene  i, 
where  Queen  Elizabeth  says  to  Dorset: 

"Get  thee  hence  ...  go  across  the  seas, 
And  live  with  Richmond  from  the  reach  of  hell: 
Go,  hie  thee,  hie  thee  from  this   slaughter-house." 

The  next  thing  we  hear  is  that  Dorset  has  fled  to  Rich- 
mond. In  an  audience  with  Buckingham  (Act  IV,  Scene  2) 
Richard  muses  thus : 

As  I  remember,  Henry  the  Sixth 

Did  prophesy  that  Richmond  should  be  king. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  91 

When  Richmond  was  a  little  peevish  boy, 
A  king,  perhaps,  perhaps — 

Buck. — My  lord! — 

Rich, — How   chance  the  prophet  could   not  at  that  time 
Have  told  me,  I  being  by,  that  I  should  kill  him? 

Buck. — My  lord,  your  promise  for  the  earldom — 

Rich. — Richmond !  when  last  I  was  at  Exeter, 

The  mayor  in  courtesy  show'd  me  the  castle, 

And  called  it  Rougemont :  at  which  name  I  started, 

Because  a  bard  of  Ireland  told  me  once, 

I  should  not  live  long  after  I  saw  Richmond. 

The  next  we  hear  is  (Act  IV,  Scene  3,  lines  45-50)  : 

Ely  is  fled  to  Richmond 
And  Buckingham,  back'd  with  the  hardy  Welshmen, 
Is  in  the  field,  and  still  his  power  increaseth. 

But  we  are  not  left  in  doubt  as  to  who  is  the  real  antagonist : 

K.  Rich. — Ely    with    Richmond    troubles    me    more    near 
Than  Buckingham  and  his  rash-levied  army. 

Word  comes  in  the  following  scene  (433  flf.)  : 

— on  the  western  coast 
Rideth  a  puissant  navy  .  .  . 
Tis  thought  that  Richmond  is  their  admiral. 

And  later  (463  ff.)  : 

Stan.  Richmond  is  on  the  seas. 

K.  Rich. — There  let  him  sink,  and  be  the  seas  on  him! 
White-liverM  runagate,  what  doth  he  there? 
Stan. — I  know  not,  mighty  sovereign,  but  by  guess — 


92  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

K.  Rich. — Well,  sir,  as  you  guess,  as  you  guess? 

Stan. — Stirr'd  up  by  Dorset,  Buckingham,  and  Ely, 

He  makes  for  England,  there  to  claim  the  crown. 

Then  a  little  later,  as  Richard  thinks  more  about  the  matter, 
he  accuses  Stanley,  who  has  offered  to  levy  men  (491-2)  : 

K.  Rich. — Ay,  ay,  thou  would'st  be  gone  to  join 
with  Richmond: 
I  will  not  trust  you,  sir. 

In  Act  IV,  Scene  4,  534-5,  we  have 

the  Earl  of  Richmond 
Is  with  a  mighty  power  landed  at  Milford. 

Then  we  hear  of  reinforcements  for  him  and  then  the  mes- 
sage of  the  queen  to  the  effect  that  her  daughter  Elizabeth 
shall  be  his  wife. 

We  shall  see  this  idea  of  struggle  of  protagonist  and 
antagonist  (here  confined  in  a  brief  fifth  act)  grow  into  a 
whole  play — first,  into  a  somewhat  weak  action  still  much 
reflecting  Marlowean  technic  and,  because  of  its  lyrical  qual- 
ity, really  less  dramatic  than  Marlowe's  own  cruder  produc- 
tion. Then,  after  a  total  freeing  of  the  poet  from  Marlowe 
by  means  of  an  Italian  love  story  and  Senecan  conventions, 
we  shall  see  these  very  elements  of  the  "Richard  III"  catas- 
trophe grow  into  an  elaborate  and  magnificent  piece  of  struc- 
ture which,  nevertheless,  defeated  its  own  purpose  because 
of  an  English  traditional  element.  But  we  shall  witness 
also  the  triumphing  over  this  mistake  later. 

Bolingbroke,  Duke  of  Hereford,  occupies  a  much  larger 
part  in  the  tragedy  of  Richard  II  than  Richmond  occupies  in 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  93 

that  of  Richard  III.  In  fact,  the  first  few  lines  of  the  later 
play  present  the  antagonist's  name  by  the  King's  own  mouth. 
The  spectator's  interest  is  immediately  aroused  in  Henry 
Hereford's  "boisterous  late  appeal,"  and  more  in  his  char- 
acter than  in  his  "appeal."  The  king  calls  him  bold,  and  we 
see  him  both  bold  and  brave,  resolute  where  the  king  is 
wavering  and  weak,  frank  and  straightforward  where  the 
king  is  shifty.  When  the  vacillating  Richard  changes  his 
mind  and  refuses  to  countenance  the  settling  of  the  quarrel 
between  Bolingbroke  and  Mowbray  by  the  quickest  method, 
and,  instead,  banishes  both,  we  feel  dimly  which  is  to  re- 
turn— the  one  the  king,  fears  most  and  seemingly  punishes 
least.  Bolingbroke's  patriotic  utterances  and  his  lyric  fare- 
well would  not  fail  to  win  the  attention  and  concern  of  an 
English  audience,  even  without  the  king's  petulant  descrip- 
tion of  him  as  a  wooer  of  the  common  people : 

Off  goes  his  bonnet  to  an  oyster-wench; 

A  brace  of  draymen  bid  God  speed  him  well 

And  had  the  tribute  of  his  supple  knee, 

With  Thanks,  my  countrymen,  my  loving  friends' ; 

As  were  our  England  in  reversion  his, 

And  he  our  subjects'  next  degree  in  hope. 

(Act  I,  sc.  4,  31  ff.) 

The  whole  play  is  practically  a  character  study  of  these  two 
men:  the  king  the  protagonist,  and  Bolingbroke  his 
opponent. 

Richard's  changeableness  is  well  exemplified  from  the 
first,  where  he  commands,  then  yields,  then  recommends, 
and    finally    displays    the    utmost    tyranny    without    either 


94  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

bravery  or  consistency.  In  Act  II,  old  John  of  Gaunt, 
Bolingbroke's  father,  limns  Richard's  character  very  closely 
and  with  his  dying  breath  in  querulous  antagonism  fore- 
tells Richard's  deposing  of  himself  by  his  shameful  indif- 
ference to  England's  good. 

In  this  play,  while  the  catastrophe  gives  the  groundlings 
what  they  like  (bloodshed  and  the  knocking  of  life  out  with 
an  ax)  the  elaboration  of  it  is  really  neglected.  The  author 
is  interested  in  the  emotional  meetings  and  the  contrast  of 
characters  in  the  course  of  the  play.  Immediately  on  John 
of  Gaunt's  death,  Richard  indulges  in  the  unjust  and  high- 
handed confiscation  of  Hereford's  patrimony  and  thus,  as 
York  tells  him,  plucks  a  thousand  dangers  on  his  head,  and 
makes  the  meeting  between  him  and  Hereford  inevitable. 
Everybody  is  ready  for  Bolingbroke's  return ;  and  when  he 
comes,  even  his  Uncle  York,  staunch  old  patriot  and  gov- 
ernor in  the  king's  absence,  can  but  "have  feelings  of  the 
young  man's  wrongs,"  although  he  calls  the  young  man  a 
traitor  and  a  rebel.  The  suspense  is  kept  up  and  the  meet- 
ing delayed  after  Bolingbroke's  landing  by  the  absence  of 
the  king  in  Wales. 

Act  II,  Scene  3  is  a  preparatory  scene,  showing  Boling- 
broke's increasing  power  as  the  nobles  flock  to  him.  Even 
the  Duke  of  York  says,  "It  may  be  I  will  go  with  you." 
From  here  on,  the  scenes  are  alternate  between  Richard 
and  Bolingbroke,  setting  forth  the  progress  of  each  toward 
the  meeting.  Act  III,  Scene  3.  Richard  partly  foresees  his 
doom,  and  while  he  hears  Bolingbroke's  summons  to  a 
parle  utters  a  deal  of  his  most  fantastic  and  pathetic  poetry. 
However  vacillating  and  weak  Richard  is,  he  hates  to  revoke 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  9S 

his  word.  He  loves  words  better  than  deeds,  and  his 
greatest  grief  is  that  he  must  unsay  what  he  has  said.  The 
revocation  is  the  tragedy  for  him.  He  should  have  fought 
rather. 

"O  God,  O  God !  that  e'er  this  tongue  of  mine 
That  laid  the  sentence  of  dread  banishment 
On  yon  proud  man,  should  take  it  off  again 
With  words  of  sooth !    O  that  I  were  as  great 
As  is  my  grief,  or  lesser  than  my  name ! 
Or  that  I  could  forget  what  I  have  been, 
Or  not  remember  what  I  must  be  now  !"      (11.  133-139) 

Yet  we  perceive  that  he  does  not  really  sense  his  destiny 
or  feel  the  tragedy  of  it,  but  is  rather  pleased  with  his  own 
embroidered  melancholy  (11.  143-158). 

He  is  king  enough,  however,  to  realize  what  it  means  for 
him  to  come  down  at  the  ''traitor's"  request.  Lyrical  and, 
as  ever,  playing  on  words,  he  says  as  he  descends : 

"In  the  base  court?     Come  down?    Down  court! 
Down  king!" 

(Act  III,  sc.  3,  183) 

And  he  comes  down  to  his  own  catastrophe ;  but  not  before 
the  revocation  has  been  elaborately  repeated  and  emphasized. 
This  matter  of  the  reiteration  of  a  scene  at  the  middle  of 
the  play  becomes  a  structural  convention.  We  will  look 
at  it  in  another  chapter. 

We  must  seem  to  turn  aside  for  a  minute  from  a  study 
of  the  antagonist,  to  notice  the  evidence  of  the  beginning 
of  Shakespeare's  consciousness  of  "the  action"  of  a  piece 
and  his  study  of  Senecan  matters.    Shakespeare's  conscious- 


96  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

ness  of  action  came  about,  it  seems  to  me,  from  his  pre- 
occupation with  the  idea  of  antagonism,  and  his  attempt  to 
enliven  an  old  play  with  just  those  emphasized  elements. 

The  antagonist  in  the  tragedy  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet" 
at  first  seems  general  like  the  antagonist,  or  counter-play,  in 
some  of  our  earliest  dramas.  And  yet  there  is  a  representa- 
tive to  be  killed  at  each  turn  of  the  hero's  fortunes.  Romeo 
slays  Tybalt  in  a  street  fray  just  as  Romeo  has  consummated 
his  desire  in  marrying  Tybalt's  kinswoman.  Again,  he  kills 
Paris  after  they  both  think  that  Juliet  is  dead  and  when 
Paris  comes  to  put  flowers  within  the  tomb  and  there  meets 
Romeo  by  accident.  Romeo's  deed  is  in  both  cases  unwel- 
come to  himself,  but  it  is  a  result  of  antagonism  in  general. 
The  whole  play  is  in  a  sense  a  study  of  antagonism  that  has 
become  deep-seated  and  misery-bringing.  "Oh,  I'm  for- 
tune's fool !"  cries  the  young  lover,  as  he  rushes  away  into 
hiding  after  Tybalt's  death.  And  though  it  is  rather  as  the 
fools  of  fortune  and  of  chance  that  these  young  lovers  move 
forward  to  their  catastrophe,  they  yet  also  seem  to  hurry  out 
to  meet  it.  They  bring  death  down  upon  themselves  with 
their  own  hands.  Admitted  that  they  do  not  court  it,  that 
it  is  not  suicide  of  a  premeditated  kind,  but  is  an  impulse  of 
fate ;  yet  evidently  the  impetuosity  of  love  at  struggle  with 
an  ancient  feud  forms  the  action  of  the  drama. 

The  end  is  predestined.  This  fact  makes  for  a  Senecan- 
Greek-Italian  theme.  The  catastrophe  is  in  only  a  very  small 
part  a  character-catastrophe.  The  action  imposed  upon  the 
theme  was  largely  Elizabethan  and  new ;  but  the  theme  was 
old.  The  story,  the  course  of  events,  the  very  scenario, 
Shakespeare  found  ready  at  hand.    He  had  Arthur  Brooke's 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  97 

metrical  version  of  Bandello's  novella,  and  the  Painter's 
"Pallace  of  Pleasure"  prose  translation  of  Boisteau's  French 
rendering.  He  may  have  had  also  an  old  play  that  Brooke 
mentions,  which  has  not  come  down  to  us.  At  any  rate,  the 
events  of  this  love  tale  were  as  well  known  and  fixed  as 
those  of  any  of  the  chronicles,  and  were  believed  to  be  as 
historical.  Shakespeare  was  in  direct  line  with  his  own 
other  work,  therefore,  in  revitalizing  characters  of  the  past. 
Through  the  nature  of  the  story,  however,  he  was  far  away 
from  the  influence  of  Marlowe  and  very  near  that  of  Seneca. 
It  is  with  its  relation  to  Seneca  that  we  want  to  study  this 
play.  Of  course — and  we  might  as  well  say  it  right  here 
and  we  must  never  forget  it — Shakespeare  is  always  from 
now  on  in  his  own  peculiar  field,  not  plot-building,  not  in- 
vention, not  soaring  poetic  discontent  and  magnificent  re- 
volt, but  careful  and  re-creative  delineation  of  his  fellow- 
men.  This  is  the  first  triumphant  entrance  of  that  field, 
and  the  poet  is  only  just  within  the  gates ;  but  he  is  within, 
for  here  are  evident  masterful  strokes  of  dramatic  portrait- 
ure. With  a  few  words  he  fixes  forever  as  individualized 
immortals  such  subordinate  characters  even  as  the  nurse 
and  Mercutio.  In  another  person's  hands  these  would 
be  the  tiresome  figures  of  the  confidants. 

But  that  is  just  the  significant  fact  for  us  in  this  study: 
these  are  stock  characters  and  this  seems  at  bottom  an  old 
play,  with  many  conventions  of  an  earlier  order.  The  more 
one  studies  the  structure,  the  more  one  is  convinced  of  the 
possibility.  In  addition  there  are  tell-tale  rhymes,  puns, 
couplets,  and  declamation.  Yet  one  is  convinced  no  less  surely 
that  at  the  top  it  is  particularly  Shakespearean  with  the  touch 


98  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

and  structure  that  only  the  new  expert  artist,  who  was  now 
sure  of  himself,  could  give.  Reconciliation  between  these 
two  impressions  is  attempted  by  assigning  to  the  pro- 
duction two  dates  a  number  of  years  apart:  one  early, 
before  the  chronicle  tragedies ;  the  other  somewhat  late, 
three  or  four  years  after  them.  But  I  have  imagined  a  date 
even  back  of  these  two.  Whether  Shakespeare  was  remak- 
ing someone  else's  old  play,  or  whether  he  was  remaking  his 
own  old  play,  or  whether  he  was  remaking  his  own  remaking 
of  an  old  play  written  before  he  was  born,  a  future  scholar  by 
diligence  or  good  luck  may  be  able  to  prove.  In  the  mean- 
time we  can  only  speculate.  We  have  the  final  version  and 
it  is  extremely  interesting,  in  its  structure.  It  is  for  this 
structure  that  we  are  going  to  analyze  the  play — not  pri- 
marily as  a  study  of  antagonism,  but  primarily  as  a  study  of 
action.  Shakespeare's  emphasis  of  the  antagonism  will  be 
apparent,  however,  as  will  also  the  importance  of  this  play 
to  his  developing  powers  and  his  further  interest  in  tragic 
struggle. 

The  fact  is  perfectly  evident  that  Shakespeare,  in  his  deal- 
ing with  the  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  action,  was  thinking  of 
Senecan  conventions,  Italian  material,  and  his  own  new 
technic.  To  a  student  of  the  old  and  the  new,  the  impres- 
sion is  as  if  Shakespeare  had  deliberately  said:  "Go  to, 
gentlemen,  I'll  show  you  what  is  the  matter  with  your 
ancient  plays.  They  lack  life,  the  life  that  captivates!" 
and  had  then  breathed  his  own  spirit  into  the  Italian  story, 
and  set  himself  about  the  business  of  showing,  how  Eliza- 
bethan popular  dramatic  devices  could  supplement  and  vivify 
Senecan  conventions.    It  is  interesting  to  know  that  it  was 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  99 

in  1 591  that  Robert  Wilmot  tried  to  bring  up  to  date  his  old 
play,  the  one  with  which  he  had  been  concerned  twenty- 
three  years  before.  It  had  been  written  in  decasyllabic 
quatrains ;  he  rewrote  it  in  blank  verse.  It  had  left  one  of 
the  principal  characters  alive  at  the  end  of  the  action ;  Wil- 
mot brought  him  to  death.  Wilmot  also  changed  the  title ; 
he  wanted  to  emphasize  the  antagonist.  The  play  had  been 
called  "Gismonde  of  Salerno" ;  it  was  now  called  *'Tancred 
and  Gismunda."  This  new  version  was  printed.  The  his- 
tory of  technic  is  as  if  Shakespeare  had  seen  Wilmot's  at- 
tempt and  had  said,  ^'That's  not  the  way  to  remake  a 
Senecan  drama.  Such  a  play  will  not  *go*  on  the  stage 
today.  Something  must  be  done  to  the  action :  the  antag- 
onism must  be  strengthened  and  the  struggle  emphasized." 
In  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  we  certainly  have  action  far  in 
advance  of  **Tancred  and  Gismunda,"  and  we  certainly 
have  struggle  emphasized.  Shakespeare  chose  material 
somewhat  like  Wilmot's,  a  pair  of  lovers  meeting  in  secret, 
whose  union  if  known  would  be  opposed  by  the  father  of 
the  girl;  the  lovers  both  coming  to  death  and  the  father 
therefore  coming  to  grief.  But  the  two  authors  have  used 
the  two  lovers  very  differently  in  connection  with  the  struc- 
ture of  the  play.  In  a  previous  chapter  we  saw  what  Wilmot 
did  with  them.^  Shakespeare  makes  them  both  protagonists 
and  he  gives  them  each  an  antagonist.  Romeo  represents 
what  we  have  come  to  call  Elizabethan  action,  and  Juliet 
represents  Senecan  action.  Whether  Shakespeare  was  con- 
scious of  the  fact  or  not  (I  think  he  was),  or  whether  he 
thought  as  definitely  as  we  have  playfully  imagined  he  did 

1  Chapter  III. 


100  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

(perhaps  not),  he  certainly  gave  us  a  marvelous  example  of 
the  two  structures  supplementing  each  other.  In  ''Hamlet" 
and  "Othello"  we  shall  see  him  remaking  both 

We  have  only  to  recall  our  analysis  of  the  "Medea"  and 
the  "Hippolytus"  to  remember  what  Senecan  typical  action 
is.  The  protagonist  is  under  the  control  of  outside  forces 
that  have  gathered  their  strength  before  the  play  opens. 
The  action  consists  of  the  formation  of  the  resolve  of  the 
protagonist  as  to  what  to  do  and  then  the  doing  of  it.  At 
about  the  middle  of  the  process  comes  the  face-to-face  meet- 
ing, of  the  two  forces.  The  contest  is  mental  and  is  ex- 
pressed wholly  in  words  (not  deeds),  and  the  protagonist, 
settled  in  a  resolve,  goes  forward  to  the  execution  of  it,  and 
thereby  brings  the  catastrophe.  The  catastrophe  is  defeat 
for  the  opponent,  if  not  death.  In  the  "Medea"  it  is  defeat 
for  Jason  in  the  death  of  his  children ;  in  the  "Hippolytus," 
defeat  for  Theseus  in  the  death  of  his  beloved  son.  The 
protagonist  sometimes  comes  off  alive  (Medea),  and  some- 
times not  (Phaedra).  If  the  protagonist  dies,  he  dies  by  his 
own  hand,  as  Phaedra  and  Dejanira  die. 

Juliet  goes  through  a  crisis  much  like  Medea's,  a  conflict 
with  a  double  opponent.  She  appeals  to  her  father,  and 
when  he  proves  harsh  and  relentless,  she  turns  to  her  mother. 
Like  Medea,  Juliet  determines  to  use  the  intervening  time 
between  the  announcement  of  the  decree  and  the  day  of  the 
execution  of  it  to  outwit  her  opponents.  She  defeats  them, 
but  goes  to  her  own  death. 

Now,  I  take  it  that  Shakespeare  knew  where  a  Senecan 
play  would  begin,  whether  he  was  here  remaking  an  old 
play  or  not.     He  knew,  doubtless,  that  Romeo's  killing  of 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRA^GEDY  101 

Tybalt  and  all  that  went  before  it  would  be  retrospective 
narrative,  that  the  information  probably  would  be  imparted 
by  the  nurse  and  Juliet,  and  that  the  play  would  open  not 
far  from  the  present  Act  III,  Scene  2.  In  fact,  Juliet's 
monologue  has  in  it  all  the  information  necessary  for  an 
understanding  of  the  relation  of  the  lovers,  and  it  is  not 
unlike  the  beginning  of  some  Senecan  dramas.  The  "Medea'' 
so  begins  with  fifty-five  lines  of  invocation  by  Medea  to  the 
goddess  of  Night  and  secret  ceremonies,  including  a  retro- 
spect of  what  has  gone  before.  The  "Octavia"  so  begins, 
with  just  the  same  number  of  lines  (plus  one)  that  Juliet 
uses.  After  the  argument  Juliet's  "Gallop  apace,  ye  fiery- 
footed  steeds,"  etc.,  could  well  be  the  opening  monologue 
of  a  Senecan  play. 

We  can  pretty  clearly  see  what  would  have  been  the  gen- 
eral process  if  Shakespeare  in  his  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  had 
been  modernizing  an  old  Senecan-like  composition,  supple- 
menting it  with  material  at  hand  in  the  popular  novella  and 
the  metrical  romance  of  Brooke,  and  changing  all  into  an 
Elizabethan  acting  tragedy.  But  not  to  be  impertinent  and 
attempt  to  say  what  Shakespeare  did  or  did  not  do,  let  us 
turn  the  supposition  around  and  show  how  a  pedagogue 
addicted  to  the  old  form  would  not  unlikely  have  arranged 
matters  and  reduced  Shakespeare's  play  to  a  Senecan 
"model."  In  other  words,  let  us  see  if  Shakespeare's  play 
as  it  stands  contains  typical  Senecan  situations. 

After  Juliet's  opening  monologue,  the  dialogue  with  the 
nurse  would  follow,  just  as  it  follows  here  and  just  as  it 
follows  in  the  "Octavia"  and  the  "Hippolytus"  directly 
upon  the  first  retrospective  narrative,  or  as  it  follows  in  the 


102  TFE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

"Medea"  preceded  by  the  marriage-song  in  praise  of  Creusa. 
What  the  chant  is  to  Medea,  the  throwing  down  of  the 
ropes  is  to  JuHet — a  sign  of  the  dissolution  of  her  mar- 
riage. 

After  the  woful  news  and  the  wailing  (the  Oh's  and  Ah's 
are  typical  of  Senecan  feeling),  we  find  the  announcement 
that  the  nurse  will  go  seek  out  Romeo  and  arrange  for  his 
coming.  This  is  a  Senecan  preparation;  and  the  next  two 
scenes,  were  this  really  a  Senecan  drama,  would  be  as  in  the 
"Hippolytus,"  and  indeed  as  they  are  here  without  the  addi- 
tions, the  scenes  of  the  nurse  with  the  young  man  and  of  the 
young,  man  with  the  woman  who  loves  him.  In  one  of  these 
scenes  would  be  arranged  the  information  about  the  Friar's 
future  position  as  counsellor  to  both.  If  the  writer  of  the 
old-fashioned  drama  wanted  to  put  in  (as  it  is  here)  the 
dialogue  between  Romeo  and  the  Friar  before  the  appear- 
ance of  the  Nurse,  and  then  to  continue  the  scene  into  a 
dialogue  of  three  (Nurse,  Friar,  and  Romeo),  he  could  find 
precedent  in  Seneca.  In  the  "Agamemnon"  the  dialogue 
between  Clytemnestra  and  the  Nurse  is  extended  into  a 
dialogue  of  Clytemnestra,  the  Nurse,  and  ^gisthus.  Or 
if  this  were  a  strict  Senecan  drama  with  a  chorus,  the  Chorus 
might  take  Friar  Laurence's  part  of  emphasizing  the  par- 
ticulars of  Romeo's  reception  of  the  news  of  the  banishment, 
and  leave  to  the  Friar  but  the  shorter  speeches  in  the  con- 
versation. 

Now,  of  course,  close  upon  the  lovers'  meeting  would 
come  the  mother's  announcement  of  the  father's  determina- 
tion to  marry  the  girl  to  the  County  Paris,  as  it  is  here. 
Then  in  would  come  the  father  for  the  stormv  scene  of  the 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  103 

crisis,  as  he  does  here.  He  would  be  ushered  by  the  nurse 
probably,  as  he  is  here,  and  the  Lady  Capulet  might  retire, 
or,  more  likely,  the  Nurse  would  not  speak  as  she  does  in 
Shakespeare's  drama,  but  remain  silent ;  for  in  most  of  the 
Senecan  tragedies  there  are  no  more  than  three  speaking 
characters  on  the  stage  at  once.  If  there  are  more  persons 
present  than  the  three  principal  characters  of  the  scene,  the 
rest  generally  remain  silent,  as  Philotetes  does  in  the  fourth 
act  of  the  ''Hercules  CEtaeus."^ 

The  writer  of  an  imitation  of  Seneca,  though,  if  he  wanted 
the  four  people  to  speak,  could  find  an  antecedent  in  the 
"Agamemnon"  where  Electra,  Clytemnestra,  ^gisthus,  and 
Cassandra  are  on  the  stage  at  once  and  Cassandra  remains 
silent  and  hidden  until  dragged  out  at  the  end  of  the  scene, 
when  she  makes  two  short  speeches,  the  last  of  which  ends 
the  play ;  or  he  could  have  found  precedent  in  the  "Hercules 
Furens,"  where  Hercules  rages  around  and  Amphitryon 
and  Theseus  reply  to  him,  but  Megara  remains  silent  except 
for  two  speeches  of  remonstrance  to  save  her  child,  like 
those  the  Nurse  makes  here.  This  could  therefore  be  a 
regular  Senecan  scene  without  change. 

The  next  scene  after  the  crisis  would  be  as  it  is  here 
(without  Shakespeare's  additions  to  Brooke).  Juliet  would 
consult  the  Friar  about  her  desperate  situation,  and  they 

1  Messengers  and  chorus  do  not  count,  naturally.  They  are 
in  most  cases  on  and  off  at  the  ends  of  the  scenes,  and  do  not 
give  the  impression  of  being  characters,  but  only  conveniences. 
In  the  Senecan  plays  the  chorus  is  not  always  totally  detached 
from  the  action,  as  we  see  that  the  meager  remains  of  it  are 
here  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet."  In  the  "Troades"  the  Chorus  and 
Hecuba  carry  on  a  conversation.  In  the  "Hippolytus"  the 
Chorus  speaks  with  the  nurse  and  with  Theseus. 


104  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

would  decide  on  the  sleeping  potion  and  the  sending  of  the 
letter  to  Romeo.  These  matters  would  about  finish  Act 
III  of  the  Senecan  drama. 

The  next  scene  would  be  the  beginning  of  the  Senecan 
Act  IV,  which,  as  we  noticed  in  the  outline  of  Senecan  trage- 
dies, is  concerned  with  reports  of  the  result  of  the  crisis,  of 
deeds  taken  place  off  the  stage,  and  with  incidents,  wailings, 
and  what  prove  later  to  have  been  preparations  for  the 
catastrophe.  In  the  Shakespearean  scene  with  Juliet,  the 
Friar  very  clearly  outlines  just  what  will  happen  as  a  result 
of  the  sleeping  potion ;  so  that  the  maker  of  the  Senecan 
play  could  take  over  that  speech  without  change  (Act  IV, 
Scene  i),  and  would  not  need  Shakespeare's  subsequent 
acting  scenes.  Indeed,  they  would  be  improper  in  a  ''class- 
ical" drama.  He  would  rely  on  this  speech  of  the  Friar's 
beforehand  and  a  report  by  the  Chorus  or  messenger  later 
that  the  events  had  taken  place.  That  is,  Juliet's  supposed 
death  and  the  details  of  it  would  only  be  reported,  as  is  the 
death  of  Hippolytus  in  Seneca. 

If  the  pedagogue  wanted  a  reiteration  of  this,  he  could 
have  the  Chorus  ask  the  nurse  to  repeat  the  circumstances, 
and  she,  amidst  her  own  wailing,  as  here  in  Scene  5,  could 
tell  of  the  grief  of  Lady  Capulet  and  the  others,  and  of  the 
funeral  that  is  preparing.  Paris,  who  would  not  have  ap- 
peared in  person  hitherto  in  the  Senecan  drama,  need  not 
appear  now.  He  could  be  taken  care  of  by  report.  The  talk 
between  the  Friar  and  Capulet  (Act  IV,  Scene  5)  could  be 
adopted,  since  in  its  moralizing  philosophy  it  has  a  Senecan 
tone.  The  musicians  would  be  left  out,  and  their  part  of 
comment  be  given  to  the  Chorus. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  lOS 

Act  V  would  probably  open,  not  with  a  change  of  place 
and  with  Romeo,  but  with  the  Friar,  who  would  tell  about 
his  sending  of  the  letter  and  his  now  waiting  for  Romeo  to 
appear.  Instead  of  Romeo  the  messenger  would  enter  (Friar 
John,  who  comes  in  Scene  2)  and  tell  of  the  miscarrying  of 
the  letter.    The  next  scene  would  be  that  of  Romeo  in  the 
graveyard  lamenting  Juliet's  death  and  telling  how  his  own 
messenger  had  brought  him  news  at  Mantua  and  of  his 
buying  the  poison  which  he  means  to  swallow  after  he  has 
entered  the  tomb.     The  Senecan  writer  could  bodily  take 
over  Shakespeare's  description  of  the  apothecary's  shop.    It 
would  be  suggestive  to  him  that  the  description  is  already  in 
retrospective  form,  just  as  if  it  had  been  used  in  some  such 
scene  as   this.     Romeo  would   then  proceed  to  open   the 
tomb.    He  might  not  tell  about  buying  the  poison,  however, 
but  simply  produce  it  at  his  next  appearance.     His  words 
as  he  drinks  the   fatal  draught,  "O  true  apothecary,  thy 
drugs  are  quick,"  would  be  sufficient  to  set  the  audience 
right.    In  the  tomb  (if  the  Senecan  play  were  meant  for  the 
stage)    the   appointments   would   be   meager.     There   was 
Senecan  precedent  for  having  the  dead  body  on  the  stage. 
The  remains  of  Hippolytus  are  gathered  together  before  the 
eyes  of  the  public  (if  it  be  permissible  to  imagine  a  public 
for  Seneca),  and  Phaedra  lies  dead  on  the  stage.     In  the 
old-fashioned  play  Paris  would  not  appear.    His  part  in  the 
catastrophe  is  Elizabethan  and  Shakespearean.     As  Romeo 
utters  his  apostrophe  and  dies,  the  Friar  might  enter  and 
Juliet  awake,  as  she  does  in  Shakespeare's  play,  and  then, 
after  the  Friar  has  been  frightened  away,  Juliet  might  kill 
herself  with  Romeo's  dagger.    Even  this  scene  would  have 


106  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

clear  Senecan  precedent;  for  Phaedra  kills  herself  on  the 
stage  with  Hippolytus's  dagger. 

The  remainder  of  the  play  would  perhaps  be  carried  on 
by  the  Chorus  and  the  Friar.  He  might  tell  what  is  lacking 
of  the  Romeo  and  Juliet  story,  as  he  does  in  Shakespeare's 
play,  and  the  Chorus,  instead  of  the  Prince,  might  moralize 
on  the  evil  strife  of  the  two  houses.  Or  somiebody  might 
come  into  the  tomb  with  the  Friar,  and  Juliet  might  tell  her 
story  for  him,  as  Phaedra  tells  hers  for  Theseus.  Then  the 
Friar's  narrative  could  be  left  out.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
retell  and  explain  the  events  acted.  Narration  is  for  deeds 
not  presented,  is  for  the  sake  of  the  audience  of  a  Senecan 
play,  not  for  verisimilitude  as  in  the  Shakespearean.  There 
would  not  appear  in  the  Senecan  action  the  many  citizens 
and  the  multiplied  partisans  of  both  houses,  who  would  need 
to  be  satisfied.  These  would  be  represented  by  the  Chorus, 
which  could  be  wise  or  dull  as  the  case  might  demand, 
allude  to  the  past  or  look  forward  to  the  future,  and  do  all 
the  moralizing  as  well  as  some  of  the  weeping. 

But  the  reader  is  already  protesting,  "That  old  pedagogue, 
though  he  has  kept  the  main  part  of  the  action  and  prac- 
tically the  whole  story,  has  cut  out  all  the  life!  He  has 
taken  away  what  Shakespeare  would  be  most  likely  to  wish 
to  have  in."  He  has,  indeed !  Let  us  see  what  that  is.  It 
is  for  the  most  part  the  first  half  of  the  play. 

There  is  the  street  brawl.  Though  it  is  a  fine  pre-figuring 
of  the  state  of  feud  of  the  two  houses,  the  Senecan  tragedy- 
maker  could  not  use  it.  Anything  so  violent  and  full  of 
life  and  directly  presented  as  that  is,  is  a  new  thing  and  be- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  107 

longs  to  the  popular  stage.  This  is  the  first  use  of  such  a 
beginning  by  Shakespeare  himself  either  in  comedy  or  trag- 
edy, though  we  shall  find  him  employing  it  hereafter.  Such 
a  scene  when  detached  is  called  the  keynote  scene,  because 
it  gives  us  the  tone  of  the  following  piece. 

Old  Montague  is  cut  out  and  Lady  Montague;  for  they 
have  nothing  to  do  in  the  real  Romeo  and  Juliet  part  of  the 
action,  except  to  come  in  with  the  crowd  at  the  end.  If 
the  crowd  is  to  be  left  out,  they  must  go.  The  pedant 
sacrifices  a  good  deal  of  poetry  with  these  persons  and  he 
loses  the  presented  antagonism  of  the  two  houses,  but  to  be 
''correct"  he  must  keep  the  action  simple.  If  the  Capulets 
and  Montagues  are  not  to  meet  in  a  presented  quarrel,  there 
is  no  need  of  the  Prince,  either.  He  is  there  to  settle  mat- 
ters, and  if  there  is  nothing  to  settle ? 

Benvolio  goes,  too.  His  function  is  to  witness  to  the 
happenings  and  to  help  bring  out  Romeo's  portrait.  But  if 
we  are  not  to  see  Romeo's  temper  and  tendencies  before  the 
crisis,  indeed  if  we  are  not  to  see  his  crisis  at  all  and  he  is 
to  be  a  banished  man  most  of  the  time  of  the  Senecan  play, 
why,  of  course,  Benvolio  and  Mercutio,  too,  and  the  scenes 
they  are  in  with  Romeo  are  to  be  sacrificed.  The  Senecan 
imitator  loses  much  more  with  Mercutio  than  with  any  of 
the  others  except  Romeo,  but  he  must  be  content  if  he  pre- 
fers a  restricted  number  of  persons,  restricted  place,  time, 
and  action. 

We  cannot  have  the  masquerade  either.  Such  a  thing  was 
unheard  of  in  Senecan  drama.  It  strictly  belongs  to  the 
vivacity  of  the  Elizabethans.    The  street  scenes  leading  up 


108  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

to  it  would  be  excluded  also,  and  the  music  and  the  running 
and  chatter  of  the  servants.  We  should  lose  even  the  ''fiery 
Tybah"  and  his  altercation  with  my  Lord  Capulet. 

The  first  meeting  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  too,  would  be  but 
retrospective  narrative,  used  in  JuHet's  first  confidences  with 
the  Nurse.  But  what  an  incomparable  scene  would  be  lost ! 
There  is  no  use  talking  about  it  in  the  way  of  praise ;  every- 
body knows  it  and  everybody  that  loves  a  lover  loves  it.  One 
might  argue  that  since  it  is  a  dialogue,  the  Senecan  adapter 
might  find  room  for  it  just  as  it  is.  But  he  could  not,  as 
direct  presentation ;  for  of  necessity  it  must  come  before  the 
of  killing  Tybalt  and  would  therefore  break  the  effect  of  the 
unity  of  time  that  one  generally  finds  in  Senecan  plays. 
Obviously,  much  would  depend  on  how  strict  our  Senecan 
adapter  of  the  story  was.  If  he  were  very  liberal,  as  some 
of  the  Elizabethan  imitators  were,  he  might  present  two 
scenes  with  the  lovers,  regardless  of  unity;  but  the  proba- 
bilities are  against  the  double  appearance.  He  would  be 
more  likely  to  use  the  garden,  the  leaping  of  the  wall,  the 
moonlight,  etc.,  for  the  beginning  of  the  farewell  scene,  and 
hence  actually  present  the  lovers  but  once. 

Friar  Laurence's  gathering  herbs  and  the  Nurse's  meeting 
with  Romeo  are  but  the  direct  presentation  of  facts  made 
evident  in  the  second  half  of  the  play,  and  though  they 
furnish  poetry  in  the  one  case  and  the  favorite  Elizabethan 
punning  in  the  other,  are  not  necessary  to  clear  understand- 
ing. They  would  be  left  out.  So  likewise  would  be  omitted 
the  earlier  and  later  scenes  presenting  Juliet  and  the  Nurse 
before  the  opening  monologue  of  the  Senecan  play.  They 
are  not  requisite  furtherers  of  the  action,  but  are  instead 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  109 

delightful  character  sketches.  The  Senecan  adapter  (if  he 
were  more  than  a  supposition  on  our  part,  which  of  course 
he  could  not  be)  would  hesitate  to  let  them  go;  but  he  would 
let  them  go  finally.  And  if  there  were  an  actual  writer  in 
English  of  a  Senecan  play  on  the  Romeo  and  Juliet  material 
before  Shakespeare  was  born  (a  far  more  likely  supposi- 
tion), he  would  not  have  had  the  least  idea  of  such  scenes: 
they  are  not  of  his  kind;  they  would  not  have  appeared. 
They  are  thoroughly  of  the  new  age — Elizabethan;  yes, 
more  than  that — they  are  bewitchingly  Shakespearean. 

Now,  the  most  exciting  scene,  we  say,  we  could  not  have 
in  the  Senecan  version.  We  should  not  see  the  fight  between 
Tybalt  and  the  brave  Mercutio,  nor  should  we  see  Tybalt 
killed.  The  first  time  we  should  meet  Romeo  would  be  in 
the  scene  with  the  Friar  and  then  with  the  Friar  and  the 
Nurse  (Shakespeare's  Act  III,  Scene  3). — But  enough  of 
the  pedagogue's  restrictions!  What  does  all  this  similarity, 
and  dissimilarity  mean? 

It  seems  not  impossible  that  Shakespeare  was  to  some 
extent  using  an  old  play  and  that  it  was  decidedly  of  a  Sene- 
can complexion. 

I  do  not  presume  to  say  just  exactly  how  Shakespeare 
used  the  old  play.  Indeed,  I  do  not  for  a  moment  pretend 
that  there  is  any  proof  or  that  have  advanced  any  evidence 
that  he  did  not  originally  put  the  material  of  Brooke's  nar- 
rative and  of  the  "Pallace  of  Pleasure"  together  inde- 
pendently into  the  present  tragedy  of  ''Romeo  and  Juliet" 
and  that  the  Senecan  conventions  did  not  come  by  accident ; 
or  that  he  was  not  independently  with  fresh  material  himself 
imitating  Seneca.     But  I  do  say  that  explanation  by  the 


110  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

hypothesis  of  an  antecedent  old  play^  is  easy,  is  reasonable,  is 
in  keeping  with  Shakespeare's  practice  in  relation  to  other 
dramas,  does  not  detract  from  Shakespeare's  glory  (What 
could  be  a  greater  testimony  to  his  power  of  vivifying  and 
perfecting?),  and  accounts  for  a  few  discrepancies  here  and 
there  and  for  the  often  remarked  differences  in  the  style  of 
parts  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  as  we  have  it. 

The  idea  that  he  might  here  be  himself  imitating  Seneca 
seemed  plausible  enough  at  first  to  me,  who  believe  in  the 
advantages  to  a  drama  of  classical  convention  rationally 
interpreted.  But  no  other  of  Shakespeare's  tragedies  will 
bear  the  same  analysis,  and  in  those  in  which  he  was  mani- 
festly keeping  Senecan  structure  in  mind  ("Othello"  and 
"Hamlet")  we  cannot  discover  such  exact  parallelisms  to 
Senecan  order  as  here.  If  Shakespeare  were  imitating  a 
Senecan  play,  why  did  he  not  conform  entirely  to  the  model 
and  abide  by  the  restrictions?  To  say  that  Shakespeare 
could  not  have  worked  within  the  limits  of  the  Greek- 
Senecan-Italian-French  classical,  or  whatever-you-want-to- 
call-it,  form  and  have  given  us  great  tragedy  is  to  deny  all 
probability,  is  to  maintain  that  Shakespeare  was  not  so 
capable  as  Ibsen.  To  confess  that  Shakespeare  did  not  con- 
fine himself  within  classical  form  is  merely  to  say  that 
neither  he  nor  his  audience  fully  appreciated  the  benefit  of 
it  (though  this  play  helped  him  to  grow  somewhat  into  the 
appreciation).  Shakespeare  realized  the  need  of  something 
far  more  necessary  here,  and  he  attained  it — life! 

If  Shakespeare  had  had  the  old  play  and  if  it  were  any- 

1  See  H.  DeW.  Fuller,  "Romeo  and  Julietta/'  Modern  Philology, 
1906. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  111 

thing  like  what  we  have  imagined,  it  is  easy  enough  to  see 
what  he  would  have  done  with  it  in  general.  He  would 
have  put  into  it  what  we  have  pretended  to  take  out  of  his 
play.  He  would  have  breathed  his  spirit  through  the  story ; 
then  he  would  have  set  himself  to  the  joyful  work  of  impos- 
ing Elizabethan  popular  dramatic  devices  on  the  old  action, 
supplementing  and  enlivening.  He  would  have  vitalized  the 
characters  and  set  them  to  acting  as  they  do  act  in  his  play, 
not  have  left  them  in  mere  declamation  and  narrative.  He 
would  have  interspersed  the  monologues  and  dialogues  of  the 
second  half  with  connecting,  directly-presented  events.  He 
would  have  introduced  Paris,  not  have  left  him  as  a  mere 
talked-about  figure,  and  (an  Elizabethan  convention)  he 
would  have  killed  him  off  at  the  end  of  the  action.  Prefaced 
to  all  would  have  been  a  development  of  portraits.  The 
Elizabethans  we  have  said,  and  Shakespeare  no  less  than 
any  of  them,  loved  a  story;  but  they  wanted  that  story  set 
up  in  actions,  not  mere  narrative.  As  far  as  possible,  they 
wanted  to  see  the  things  happen.  They  liked  to  be  present 
at  lively  combats  and  to  hear  witty  repartee.  They  preferred 
bustling  scenes  to  quiet  ones.  Shakespeare  has  given  us  all 
these  innovations  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet." 

Let  me  reiterate  that  I  have  not  tried  to  prove  that 
Shakespeare  was  using  an  old  play.  To  reach  a  satisfactory 
result  in  such  an  attempt  I  should  be  compelled  to  take  up 
other  evidence  besides  the  structure.  The  object  of  my 
supposition  is  merely  to  give  a  clear  insight  into  the  tragedy 
as  we  have  it,  and  to  show  Shakespeare's  preoccupation 
with  antagonism  and  his  attempt  to  secure  lively  action. 
Whether  Shakespeare  was  making  or  remaking,  we  know 


112  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

what  he  has  done  in  his  play.  He  has  presented  as  acted 
events  whatever  is  referred  to  as  having  taken  place  before 
Juliet's  monologue  and  hers  and  the  Nurse's  dialogue.  Those 
events  are  (taking  them  in  the  order  in  which  they  are 
alluded  to  and  risking  a  little  repetition):  (i)  the  secret 
marriage  of  the  afternoon;  (2)  Romeo's  behest  about  the 
cords;  (3)  Romeo's  slaying  of  Tybalt ;  (4)  Romeo's  banish- 
ment. 

The  first  half  of  the  play,  then,  is  Romeo's  half.  He  is 
much  more  like  what  we  have  come  to  call  an  Elizabethan 
protagonist  than  Juliet  is.  Romeo  does  a  violent  deed  that 
turns  his  fortune  downward.  He  "commits"  his  crisis. 
Juliet  ''suffers"  hers.  His  is  a  deed ;  hers  is  a  conflict  of 
wills,  a  debate.  His  results  in  arousing  outward  opposition 
and  punishment;  hers  results  in  outward  reconciliation  but 
inward  resolve  on  her  part  of  antagonism  and  counter-strug- 
gle to  the  death.  He  is  no  longer  to  be  the  director  of 
events ;  she  is  just  beginning  to  act  out  her  will.  He  rises 
to  his  deed  before  the  opposition ;  she  rises  to  her  deed  be- 
cause of  the  opposition. 

This  difference  illustrates  to  a  degree  what  critics  mean 
when  they  say  that  usually  in  a  Shakespearean  tragedy  the 
direction  of  the  action  changes  at  the  crisis,  that  forces 
hitherto  dominant  become  weak  and  new  forces  prevail,  and 
these  new  forces  bring  on  the  catastrophe  by  way  of  an  op- 
position on  which  the  old  forces  wreck  themselves ;  but  that 
not  so  usually  is  it  within  the  Senecan  drama.  Such  is  the 
relation  rather  between  the  forces  acting  before  the  opening 
of  the  play  and  those  acting  within  the  play  itself ;  hence  a 
Senecan  tragedy  is  but  the  second  half,  as  it  were,  of  a 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  113 

Shakespearean  tragedy ;  or  the  second  half  of  a  Shake- 
spearean tragedy  is  but  a  Senecan  tragedy  added. 

Whether  our  supposition  about  an  old  play  antecedent  to 
"Romeo  and  Juliet"  be  correct  or  not,  our  analysis  of  the 
extant  drama  helps  us  to  realize  the  difference  between 
Elizabethan  and  Senecan  structures;  for  the  play  certainly 
affords  us  an  excellent  example  of  the  two  coalesced  and  a 
parallelism  in  the  very  form  and  content  of  speeches  be- 
tween a  typical  Senecan  action  and  the  second  half  of  a 
Shakespearean  play.  We  shall  not  meet  this  remarkable 
parallelism  of  scenes  again,  but  we  shall  need  to  deal  often 
with  the  two  halves  of  a  Shakespearean  play. 

Of  no  other  tragedy  of  Shakespeare  is  the  literalness  of 
the  double-play  statement  so  true  as  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet." 
But,  of  course,  critics  who  make  that  statement  are  usually 
thinking  of  the  relationship  between  the  protagonist  and  the 
antagonist  in  some  other  Shakespearean  play  where  the 
antagonist  represents  the  protagonist  of  the  second  half,  or 
Senecan  action.  Here  Juliet  is  not  the  antagonist  of  Romeo. 
She  is  a  protagonist  and  has  her  own  antagonist  (her 
father)  ;  as  Romeo  is  a  protagonist  and  has  his  antagonists 
(the  Prince,  Tybalt,  and  Paris).  Her  play  is  not  in  the 
relation  of  a  sequel  to  Romeo's,  rather  the  contrary.  The 
two  plays,  though  seemingly  put  together  end  to  end,  are 
really  in  large  part  parallel  and  complementary,  because  of 
the  amicable  relation  of  the  protagonists.  I  think,  though, 
that  Shakespeare  considered  the  idea  of  the  antagonism 
between  their  families.  If  Romeo  and  Juliet  were  enemies, 
Juliet's  play  would  be  a  sequel  to  Romeo's.  If  Juliet  had 
acted  (as  she  in  desperation  pretended  to  her  mother  she 


114  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

would  act)  to  bring  Romeo  to  punishment  for  Tybalt's 
death,  then  Juliet  would  represent  the  second  play  of  a 
Senecan  series,  or  what  the  critics  are  thinking  about  when 
they  call  the  second  half  of  a  Shakespearean  play  a  Senecan 
action ;  that  is,  a  retributive  action.  Or  if  Juliet  had  gone 
off  with  Romeo,  and  Juliet's  father  had  taken  up  the  punish- 
ment idea  and  had  set  out  and  killed  Romeo,  we  should  have 
the  relationship  that  the  critics  mean  to  state  about  other 
plays.  Capulet's  action  would  be  to  Romeo's  action  as  the 
"second,"  or  reverse,  or  return  half  of  a  "Shakespearean" 
play  to  the  first  half. 

But  such  is  not  the  story.  Neither  Juliet  nor  her  father 
set  out  to  punish  Romeo.  Juliet  and  Romeo  die  together. 
The  two  houses  are  reconciled,  the  antagonism  is  given  up, 
and  the  two  actions  are  coalesced.  Naturally,  the  story  im- 
posed the  coalescence ;  but  it  is  conceivable  that  Shakespeare 
thought  about  the  matter  of  retribution  by  an  antagonist. 
There  was  opportunity  in  the  story  for  a  ghost's  revenge 
play,  and  it  was  suggested  by  Tybalt's  appearance  to  Juliet 
before  she  drank  off  the  potion,  but  Shakespeare  passed  it 
over  for  the  time  being,  with  slight  notice.  He  was  think- 
ing of  the  relationship,  rather,  between  the  actual  protago- 
nist and  antagonist.  When  he  chose  material  for  his  next 
tragedy,  he  chose  a  story  with  just  this  human  retributive 
half.  And  he  picked  out  for  greatest  elaboration  the  point 
where  the  protagonist  and  antagonist  meet  in  verbal  combat. 
A  retributive  idea  is  suggested  in  the  Romeo  story;  and  a 
verbal  combat  forms  the  crisis  of  the  Juliet  action. 


Chapter  VI 

The  Rise  and  the  Crisis-Emphasis,  Including  the  Tragic 

Incident 

Shakespeare  was  emphasizing  the  retributive  antagonist 
in  the  play  of  "Julius  Caesar."  It  is  not  by  chance  that 
Mark  Antony's  oration  is  the  most  memorable  part  of  the 
action.  Structurally,  it  is  the  highest  point,  and,  so  far  as  is 
known,  is  also  Shakespeare's  most  original  contribution. 
Source  hunters  have  looked  in  vain  for  the  speech  else- 
where. All  they  can  find  is  no  more  than  a  few  possible 
hints  in  Appian's  Greek  narrative  of  the  civil  wars  of  Rome, 
translated  into  English  twenty-two  years  before  Shakespeare 
wrote.  North's  "Plutarch,"  which  the  author  of  the  play  used 
freely,  does  not  have  the  orations  which  form  the  crisis- 
emphasis,  but  only  mention  the  fact  that  they  were  given  and 
the  effect  they  produced.  A  modern  writer^  thinks  that  per- 
haps he  has  found  a  partial  source  of  Brutus's  speech  in 
Belleforest's  "History  of  Hamlet,"  which  tells  "How  Hamlet, 
having  slain  his  Uncle  and  burnt  his  Palace  made  an  Oration 
to  the  Danes  to  show  them  what  he  had  done,  etc."  If  this 
conjecture  be  true,  it  is  interesting  in  relation  to  Brutus  and 
Hamlet  as  character  studies  and  helps  reveal  the  possibility 
that  when  Shakespeare  was  writing  the  one  play,  he  was 
also  thinking  of  the  material  of  the  other.     But  the  fact 

^  Gollancz,  in  preface  to  Temple  Julius  Caesar,  p.  x. 

115 


116  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

(if  it  be  a  fact)  in  no  way  militates  against  our  contention 
that  Shakespeare  here  was  deliberately  emphasizing  the 
antagonist  and  his  retributive  opposition  and  was  elaborating 
the  crisis-emphasis  as  a  part  of  the  structure  of  a  play,  but 
rather  corroborates  the  contention.  Whether  Shakespeare 
originated  both  orations  or  only  one,  or  neither,  the  telling 
circumstance  is  that  he  did  not  find  them  written  out  in  the 
story  he  was  reducing  for  his  play.  He  made  them  up  or 
imported  them  for  a  special  reason.  That  he  succeeded  in 
his  emphasis,  history  as  well  as  a  reading  of  the  play  attests. 
The  most  valuable  reference  that  we  have  contemporary 
with  the  early  acting  of  the  play  is  that  found  in  Weever's 
"Mirror  of  Martyrs,"  printed  1601.  It  is  the  chief  evidence 
used  in  fixing  the  date  of  the  composition,  but  it  may  be  used 
here  as  a  testimony  to  the  success  of  Shakespeare's  new 
point  of  technic.     It  reads  thus : 

The  many-headed  multitude  were  drawn 

By  Brutus'  speech  that  Caesar  was  ambitious. 

When  eloquent  Mark  Antoine  had  shewn 
His  virtues,  who  but  Brutus  then  v/as  vicious  ? 

Whatever  the  author  of  the  "Mirror"  meant  by  these 
lines,  the  fact  is  perfectly  evident  that  the  crisis-emphasis, 
the  word-combat  of  Brutus  and  Mark  Antony,  the  struggle 
of  the  protagonist  and  antagonist  for  supremacy,  had  made 
its  impression.  The  people  of  Shakespeare's  time  did  not 
miss  the  high  point  of  his  technic. 

It  is  pertinent  for  us  in  this  investigation  that  for  other 
reasons  than  ours,  critics  place  the  "Merchant  of  Venice" 
not  far  in  date  from  the  later  version  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet" 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  117 

(1597),  and  the  earlier  record  of  "Julius  Caesar"  (1601). 
The  Stationers'  Register  gives  the  year  1598  for  the  "Mer- 
chant of  Venice"  and  the  first  quarto  bears  the  imprint 
1600.  This  relative  position  seems  correct.^  At  least  it 
corroborates  our  discovery  of  what  was  Shakespeare's  inter- 
est in  points  of  structure  in  a  serious  action  at  this  time. 
The  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  relation  we  have  suggested.  The 
"Merchant  of  Venice"  is  almost  tragedy.  Shylock's  punish- 
ment is  in  a  sense  retribution  brought  on  by  a  special  antag- 
onist. It  is  worthy  of  note,  too,  that  Shylock  is  overcome 
by  an  oration,  with  reasoning  in  a  sense  as  specious  and 
politic  as  Antony's.  But  with  Portia  as  the  orator  and  a 
love  story  as  a  continuation,  the  final  action  could  not  be 
tragic.  There  is,  however,  for  the  Shylock  action  a  tragic 
turn. 

Shakespeare  meant  to  set  Antony  forth  as  a  retributive 
antagonist  of  Brutus,  not  a  contestant  from  the  beginning  as 
Hereford  with  Richard,  but  as  one  roused  to  action  by  a 
deed.  In  this  relation  Antony  is  not  unlike  a  Senecan 
protagonist,  who  meets  his  opponent,  the  protagonist  of  a 
previous  action,  in  a  contest  of  words,  pretends  reconcilia- 

^  Another  argument  for  the  lateness  of  the  second  version  of 
"Romeo  and  Juliet"  besides  its  structural  relations,  would  be 
the  artistic  kinship  of  Mercutio  and  Gratiano.  I  do  not  recall 
having  seen  this  likeness  noted  before,  but  students  could  not 
have  missed  it.  Moreover,  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  starts  the  idea 
of  retribution;  the  "Merchant  of  Venice"  shows  it  in  com- 
bination with  another  love  story;  "JuHus  Caesar"  has  it  in 
tragedy;  and  "Hamlet"  is  a  whole  play  founded  on  it.  The 
date  of  "Julius  Caesar"  is  practically  fixed.  The  "Merchant 
of  Venice"  is  like  "Julius  Caesar"  in  a  number  of  structural 
ways.  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  has  likenesses  to  the  "Merchant 
of  Venice."  The  sequence  also  of  these  plays  is  therefore 
probably  fixed. 


118  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

tion,  but  goes  on  to  his  own  secretly  determined  purpose  to 
punish  the  misdoer.  Shakespeare  thus  has  two  plays  to 
write :  the  play  of  Brutus  and  the  play  of  Antony — or,  if  you 
please,  the  fall  of  Caesar  and  the  revenge  of  Caesar.  I  do 
not  think  with  Fleay,  however,  that  Shakespeare  actually 
wrote  two  plays  on  the  subject  of  Julius  Caesar,  and  that 
the  one  we  have  is  a  condensation  of  the  two.  Not  at  all,  but 
rather  the  reverse,  although  the  establishment  of  Fleay 's 
guess  would  not  vitiate  our  analysis.  The  technic  seems  to 
show  that  in  the  Romeo  and  Juliet  tragedy  Shakespeare 
got  interested  in  the  action-reaction  idea  and  the  verbal 
contest  involved,  and  wanted  to  try  them  out.  Whatever  the 
reason,  the  fact  stands  that  when  he  later  came  again  to 
tragedy  he  chose  popular  material  that  had  a  retributive 
antagonist.  But  I  do  not  believe  that  he  was  at  this  time 
thinking  so  much  of  the  revenge  action  as  of  the  mere 
reactive  action.  If  he  had  been  thinking  structurally  of  the 
revenge  of  Caesar,  we  should  indeed  have  a  whole  play  from 
him  on  that  motive,  but  with  a  more  elaborate  development 
of  the  ghost,  an  elaboration  that  we  get  later  in  "Hamlet." 
That  he  thinks  of  the  ghost  in  "Julius  Caesar"  we  know. 
It  is  far  more  developed  than  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet."  There 
he  but  touches  lightly  upon  it.  Juliet  has  an  hallucination 
just  before  she  drinks  the  potion:  she  thinks  she  sees  her 
cousin's  ghost  seeking  out  Romeo  and  she  cries  him,  "Stay !" 
Caesar's  spirit  comes  into  the  tent  of  Brutus  and  speaks  to 
him.  It  says  that  it  will  meet  him  at  Philippi.  But  this 
incident  is  very  late  in  the  story  and  is  retained  from 
Plutarch  to  enliven  the  declining  action.  Shakespeare  could 
have  left  it  out,  as  he  left  out  a  number  of  startling  details 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  119 

of  the  narrative,  but  he  needs  some  excitement  in  the  later 
part  of  his  play  and  hence  retains  the  ghost.  The  ghost, 
however,  did  not  occupy  his  mind.  He  was  primarily  inter- 
ested, not  in  a  ghost's  play,  but  a  man's  play — the  play  of 
Caesar,  Brutus,  Cassius,  and  Antony. 

Though  the  play  is  named  ''J^hus  Caesar"  and  though 
his  personality  overshadows  the  action  of  all,  yet  Caesar  is 
not  the  protagonist  in  our  technical  sense  of  the  word. 
Neither  is  Brutus  really,  but  Brutus  and  Cassius.    Plutarch 
distinctly  states  that  those  whom  Cassius  approached  as  con- 
spirators declared  that  they  would  not  move  unless  Brutus 
were  won  to  be  their  chief.     Part  of  the  action,  therefore, 
consists  in  winning  Brutus ;  and  Cassius  does  the  winning. 
Two  scenes  are  given  over  to  this  matter  and  they  are  very 
interesting.     It  is  conceivable  that  in  the  course  of  writing 
them   Shakespeare  himself  became  fascinated,  as  modern 
critics  are,  with  the  problem  of  the  influence  of  Cassius  on 
Brutus;  for  Shakespeare  gives  us  later  an  entire  play  on  a 
similar  relationship   (lago  and  Othello).     Structurally,  the 
winning  of  Brutus  is  subordinate  to  the  killing  of  Caesar. 
Hence,  we  soon  find  Brutus  the  center  of  the  conspiracy. 
Cassius,  though,  does  not  cease  to  suggest  and  incite.     In 
the  material  sense  he  is  the  motive  force  of  the  action ;  in  the 
spiritual  sense,  the  thought  of  killing  Caesar  is  the  motive. 
It  is  the  going  forward  with  the  idea  furnished  by  Cassius 
that  brings  Brutus  to  the  crisis-deed ;  to  be  sure,  he  enter- 
tains the  thought  and  does  the  deed  in  his  own  high-minded 
way,  but  it  is  still  Cassius's  deed  also.    These  two  are  in  a 
real  sense  a  double  protagonist,  much  more  so  than  Romeo 
and  Juliet.    Romeo  and  Juliet  are  in  effect  two  protagonists, 


120  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

separated  for  a  large  part  of  the  time.  Brutus  and  Cassius 
are  one,  complementing  each  other  always.  Shakespeare 
has  much  to  thank  his  source  for,  but  the  marvelous  balanc- 
ing of  these  characters  in  imitable  dialogue  is  his  work,  and 
it  is  superb  dramatic  achievement.  His  selecting  of  incident 
and  his  interpretation  into  direct  speech  is  unerring.  We 
cannot  omit  either  Brutus  or  Cassius  from  this  play.  They 
are  both  essential  to  the  action. 

As  it  is  the  following  of  the  idea  of  Cassius  that  brings 
the  accomplishment  of  the  crisis-deed,  so  it  is  the  abandon- 
ment of  his  methods  and  the  following  of  Brutus's  that  gives 
place  to  the  catastrophe.  Antony  becomes  the  antagonist  of 
both.  Cassius  had  urged  the  death  of  Antony  as  well  as  of 
Caesar.  Through  magnanimity  Brutus  leaves  alive  the  one 
man  who  would  have  ambition,  personality,  and  power 
enough  to  bring  the  conspirators  to  judgment.  Antony  is 
not  unskillfully  introduced  into  the  early  part  of  the  play, 
though  he  appears  very  little  before  the  crisis-deed.  His 
first  words  are,  "Caesar,  my  lord?"  and  his  next,  "I  shall 
remember."  Such  work  is  not  accident;  it  is  put  in  delib- 
erately. Antony  is  the  one  who  remembers  when  everybody 
else  seems  to  forget.    Hence  the  tragic  turn  of  events. 

Antony,  we  say,  is  Shakespeare's  first  emphasized  retribu- 
tive antagonist.  We  note  a  growing  particularity  and  im- 
mediateness  of  tragic  struggle  in  Shakespeare's  plays.  In 
"Richard  HI,"  late  in  the  action,  a  representative  of  one 
kingly  line  takes  the  victory  and  battle  from  another.  In 
"Richard  11"  a  weak  king  lets  the  power  slip  away  from  his 
hand  into  those  of  a  strong  and  opposing  subject,  who  there- 
by becomes  sovereign.     In  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  one  proud 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  121 

house  at  strife  with  another  proud  house  is  brought  to 
reconcihation  by  the  death  of  their  children.  In  "J^^i^s 
Caesar"  citizen  is  roused  against  citizen  for  a  particular 
deed. 

This  deed  is  the  material  crisis.  The  consummation  of 
it  is  reached  in  the  first  ninety  lines  of  Act  III,  while  the 
return  of  it  on  the  doers'  heads  occupies  the  remaining  two 
hundred  and  seven  lines  of  that  first  scene,  and  all  the  two 
hundred  and  seventy-six  lines  of  the  second  and  the  forty- 
three  lines  of  the  third.  These  four  hundred  twenty-six 
lines  are  the  crisis-emphasis  including  the  tragic  turn.  It 
is  accordingly  evident  that  in  the  mere  number  of  lines  in 
the  play  Shakespeare  was  much  occupied  with  the  return  of 
the  deed.  The  remaining  two  acts  are,  moreover,  a  continu- 
ation of  this  scene.  Now,  the  material  crisis,  the  deed,  was 
definitely  settled  by  Plutarch  and  history.  It  was  not  neces- 
sary for  Shakespeare  to  create  that;  he  could  simply 
transcribe  it.  His  original  work  therefore  as  a  dramatist 
lay  in  connection  with  the  rise  to  that  crisis-deed  and  the 
return  from  it. 

The  rise  to  the  crisis  is  well  managed.  It  proceeds  through 
one  step — the  conspiracy,  which  is  divided  into  four  scenes: 
the  meeting  at  the  house  of  Brutus  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  that  at  the  house  of  Caesar  a  few  hours  later,  and 
two  little  connecting  scenes.  One  of  these  is  to  show  us 
Portia,  and  the  other  is  to  prepare  for  an  incident  in  the 
crisis  where  Caesar  puts  away  the  only  chance  he  has  to  save 
his  life.  Besides  the  contrasting  character-sketches,  the  re- 
verse parallel  arrangement  of  these  two  larger  scenes  is 
noteworthy.    The  first  one  is  between  Brutus  and  the  con- 


122  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

spirators  and  then  Brutus  and  Portia;  the  second,  between 
Caesar  and  Calpurnia,  and  then  Caesar  and  the  conspirators. 
The  assassination  is  the  crisis-deed. 

Now,  the  occurrence  of  the  orations  was  no  less  fixed  by 
history  and  Plutarch  than  was  the  assassination;  but  the 
writing  out  of  those  orations  and  the  arranging  of  them  as  a 
crisis-emphasis  is  what  occupied  the  creative  power  of  the 
dramatist.  The  character  portraits  also  were  found  at  full 
length  in  North.  Where  the  opponents  meet  in  antagonistic 
struggle  is  where  Shakespeare's  play  enlarges  on  the  nar- 
rative statements,  at  the  same  time  that  it  condenses  the 
period  represented  and  reduces  the  number  of  events. 

We  find  that  Antony's  promxinence  does  not  come  upon 
us  entirely  by  surprise;  we  recall  his  first  words,  "Caesar, 
my  lord?"  and  "I  shall  remember."  In  Act  III  he  is  there- 
fore "remembering."  We  recall,  too,  that  the  astute  Cassius 
feared  that  Antony  would  remember.  On  the  night  of  the 
conspiracy,  when  Decius  asked  Brutus  if  no  man  else  were 
to  be  touched  but  only  Caesar,  Cassius  spoke  up  and  recom- 
mended that  Antony  be  taken  care  of.  But  Brutus  made  a 
fine,  long,  philosophical  reply,  fooling  himself  with  figures, 
and  they  now  come  back  upon  him  with  tragic  irony.  The 
conspirators  have  the  first  scene  of  the  crisis,  but  Antony 
has  the  second,  and  the  people  have  the  third!  Cassius 
had  said,  "We  shall  find  him  a  shrewd  contriver."  It  is 
manifest  that  no  Senecan  protagonist  ever  dissembled  to 
better  purpose  than  Antony.  The  immediate  preparation  for 
Antony's  speech  starts  back  in  Scene  i.  With  the  stage 
direction  Reenter  Antony  begins  the  struggle  of  wills  and 
words.    The  two  contestants  are  here  most  evenly  balanced. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  123 

Brutus  has  the  power,  but  is  negligent ;  Antony  has  no 
power,  but  is  watchful — the  Creon-Medea  situation.  Like 
Medea's,  Antony's  power  lies  in  his  ''mental  attributes," 
if  he  can  but  get  a  chance  to  exercise  them.  Brutus's  prom- 
ise that  after  he  quiets  the  multitude  he  will  deliver  to 
Antony  the  cause  why  he,  who  loved  Caesar,  struck  at  him, 
is  about  as  comforting  to  Antony  as  Creon's  assurance  to 
Medea  that  he  will  look  after  her  children — "Vade,  hos 
paterno,  iit  genitor,  excipiam  finu."  Antony,  with  certain 
biting  references  to  the  bloody  work  that  the  conspirators 
have  done,  asserts  that  he  doubts  not  of  their  wisdom,  but 
seeks  only  the  opportunity  to  accord  to  his  friend  the  proper 
funeral  speech.  Medea,  with  biting  references  to  Creon's 
unstable  throne,  begs  only  the  time  to  imprint  a  few  last 
kisses  on  her  children's  cheeks — "Pariimne  miserae  temporis 
lacrimis  negasf    When  Creon  yields  her  a  day,  she  says : 

Nim  is  est;  recidas  aliquid  ex  isto  licet. 
Et  ipsa  propero. 

When  Brutus  tells  Antony, 

*you  shall  speak 
In  the  same  pulpit  whereto  I  am  going, 
After  my  speech  is  ended,' 

Antony  says, 

'Be  it  so; 
I  do  desire  no  more.* 

The  shrewd  Cassius,  like  the  shrewd  Creon,  felt  the  mis- 
take while  it  was  being  made,  but  could  not  stop  it.     The 


124  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

conspirators  must  now  abide  the  consequences.  Mark 
Antony  turns  to  prepare  the  body  as  the  murderers  leave,  and 
offers  his  prophecy  of  wide-sweeping  ruin  and  civil  strife, 
"with  Caesar's  spirit  raging  for  revenge."  The  allusions  to 
"Ate,"  "hell,"  "revenge,"  and  "havoc"  surely  do  not  lack 
Senecan  tone.    Medea  threatens, 

*invadam  deos, 
Et   cuncta   quatiam!' 

and  every  schoolboy  knows  how  Antony  shook  the  whole 
round  world. 

This  somewhat  far-away  likeness  does  not  mean  that 
Shakespeare  was  copying  Seneca,  but  that  Shakespeare  was 
thinking  a  good  deal  about  Senecan  technic,  especially  the 
structure.  I  say  "especially  the  structure"  because,  while 
the  great  scene  of  the  crisis-emphasis  is  Greek-Senecan  in 
framework  (the  same  chorus  of  citizens  answering  in  turn 
the  speech  and  fervor  of  declamatory  contestants),  it  is  truly 
Shakespearean  in  its  thought  and  beauty.  Shakespeare  uses 
Plutarch's  narrative  of  the  results  of  the  speech  with  true 
dramatic  and  forensic  insight.  We  feel  that  Antony  must 
have  spoken  and  acted  just  so.  Our  conception  of  him  as  an 
orator  is  derived  wholly  from  Shakespeare.  We  feel  that 
Shakespeare  is  only  reporting  and  that  this  is  the  actual 
scene ;  yet  we  know  that  even  Plutarch,  Shakespeare's  source, 
is  very  different.  This  is  Shakespeare's  oratory  that  we 
hear,  as  is  Brutus's  speech  also.  Shakespeare  had  an  ex- 
ample of  Brutus's  laconic  diction  in  some  letters  reported  in 
Plutarch,  but  the  speech,  like  Antony's,  is  invented.  How 
different  is  it  from  Antony's,  yet  how  characteristic  of  the 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  125 

proud,  impractical  philosopher  that  Brutus  was !  Massinger, 
a  close  student  of  Shakespeare,  adopts  the  oration  device, 
which  he  uses  more  than  once  and  to  good  effect  (three 
times  in  a  singje  play),  but  he  never  reaches  the  height  of  his 
master. 

It  is  not  the  fact  that  this  scene  is  composed  of  orations, 
however,  that  makes  it  technically  the  scene  of  the  crisis- 
emphasis,  but  the  fact  that  it  recalls  the  crisis-deed,  intensifies 
it,  interprets  it,  and  with  a  surprising  turn  makes  it  fatal  to 
the  conspirators.  The  effect  has  been  prepared  for,  we  say, 
but  it  is  none  the  less  startling ;  for  it  is  the  coming  into  recog- 
nized consciousness  of  what  has  all  along,  in  the  rise  to  the 
crisis,  been  subconsciously  awaited.  What  comes,  however, 
as  a  result  of  Antony's  speech  is  not  the  catastrophe,  which 
on  reflection  we  think  we  really  expected,  but  a  tragic  turn 
following  the  tragic  incident.  Hence  the  action  of  the  play 
is  not  finished,  but  only  turned  irrevocably  toward  the  catas- 
trophe, which  is  yet  to  be  acted  out. 

By  tragic  incident  is  meant  that  small  happening  that 
emphasizes  the  spirit  of  the  tragedy  as  a  whole,  or  the  events 
of  the  crisis  just  past,  and  illuminates  the  course  of  dis- 
aster already  entered  upon  or  about  to  be  entered  upon  by 
the  protagonist.  If  the  downward  fall  toward  defeat  and 
death  is  not  already  clear,  then  the  tragic  incident  becomes 
a  tragic  turn.  In  "J^^i^s  Caesar"  the  course  of  the  action 
is  changed  by  a  fatal  mistake  of  Brutus's.  The  mistake 
results  from  an  inherent  excellence  in  character.  Out  of 
philosophical  generosity  and  high-toned  pride  Brutus  gives 
Antony  leave  to  speak,  and  even  escorts  him  to  the  rostrum 
and  orders  the  people  to  stay  and  hear.     The   surprising 


126  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

response  that  follows  Antony's  speech  with  the  turn  of 
events  against  the  conspirators  is  consequently  Brutus's  own 
doing,  is  therefore  truly  tragic. 

It  is  this  emphasis  of  the  return  of  the  deed,  however,  that 
cuts  the  play  in  two.  By  Antony's  reviewing  of  the  con- 
spirators' action,  he  starts  a  revolt  and  occasions  his  own 
supremacy.  The  downfall  of  the  conspirators  is  in  a  sense 
the  rise  of  Antony.  He  goes  forth  alive  at  the  end  of  the 
play  like -a  Senecan  protagonist.  The  play  has  two  crises, 
then,  or  crisis-deed  and  crisis-emphasis,  as  we  technically 
call  them :  the  stabbing  of  Caesar  by  the  Brutus  conspirators, 
and  the  struggle  of  Brutus  and  Antony  in  debate.  The  crisis- 
emphasis  includes  the  tragic  turn.  But  unity  is  lost  here 
that  was  retained  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet."  Since  there  the 
two  crises  were  divided  between  the  two  protagonists  and 
victory  went  with  one  of  the  protagonists,  the  play  could  be 
continued  without  a  loss  of  interest.  Here,  however,  the 
crises  are  divided  between  the  protagonist  and  the  an- 
tagonist, and  the  final  victory  is  with  the  antagonist.  The 
protagonists'  action  is  accordingly  in  one  sense  really  done 
at  the  middle  of  the  drama.  Thereafter  Brutus  and  Cassius 
are  on  the  defensive.  When  they  flee  from  Rome,  the 
spectators'  interest  naturally  lapses.  Antony  has  not  been 
long  enough  before  the  minds  of  the  spectators  for  them 
to  take  as  deep  an  interest  in  his  further  actions  as  in 
those  he  has  just  finished  on  the  immediate  scene  of  the 
crisis.  His  part  has  really  been  to  emphasize  the  crisis 
and  form  the  climax  of  the  play. 

Herewith  climax  becomes  to  Shakespeare  a  definite  prob- 
lem.   We  shall  find  him  pursuing  it  closely,  and  finally  con- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  127 

quenng.  He  realized  that  the  crisis-emphasis  is  a  strong 
point  of  structure,  as  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  he  employed 
it  consistently  thereafter,  but  without  the  mistake  that  he 
makes  in  this  play.  He  changes  the  position  of  the  crisis 
in  subsequent  tragedies,  he  changes  the  relation  of  the  antag- 
onist, but  he  keeps  the  crisis-emphasis  as  it  is  here  in  place 
and  function. 

''Julius  Caesar"  is  one  of  the  best  known,  if  not  the  very 
best  known,  of  Shakespeare's  plays.    It  has  been  translated 
into  ''the  strangest"  languages  and  dialects,  and  its  action 
has  often  been  taken  as  typically  Shakespearean.     In  one 
sense,  this  idea  is  correct ;  in  another,  it  is  very  misleading. 
There  is  hardly  such  a  thing  as  a  typically  Shakespearean 
tragic  action.    Shakespeare  is  constantly  experimenting,  and 
as  a  practical  playwright  is  always  improving  in  some  points. 
He  can  go  often  beyond  himself  even  if  others  cannot  go 
beyond  him.    But  in  one  sense  this  double  action  of  "J^li^s 
Caesar"  is  typical  of  all  Elizabethan  tragedies— that  is,  in 
the  sense  that  the  action  of  each  play  is  carried  out  to  the 
end  of  the  life  of  those  who  began  it.     The  generally  ac- 
cepted emphasis  of  the  catastrophe  as  death  to  all  is  probably 
responsible  partly  for  this  convention.     Shakespeare  is  also 
partly  responsible.     The  crisis  that  Shakespeare  has  in  the 
middle  of  the  play  of  "Julius  Caesar"  is  really  in  one  sense 
a  catastrophe— the  close  of  the  Caesar-Brutus  tragic  action ; 
but  Shakespeare  is  interested  in  the  return  stroke  and  will 
not  stop.     He  goes  on  to  the  tragic-emphasis  of  this  crisis 
and  the  emphasis  of  the  antagonist   (the  Brutus- Antony 
action)   to  the  dividing  of  his  play.     But  that  he  realized 
both  his  success  and  his  failure  seems  patent.     At  least  it 


128  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

seems  patent  to  those  who,  knowing  his  past  development, 
study  his  next  play. 

But  before  we  go  on  to  that  analysis  we  ought  to  stop  to 
sum  up  what  Shakespeare  has  arrived  at  in  "J^l^^s  Caesar," 
and  to  try  to  conceive  what  critics  mean  by  a  "typical 
Shakespearean  action."  We  see  that  Brutus  is  represented 
as  gradually  rising  to  a  terrible  deed  in  an  extremely  charac- 
teristic way,  and  that  the  issuing  of  that  deed  out  of  the 
character  of  Brutus  causes  a  reaction  in  which  Brutus  and 
his  associates  go  down  to  a  death  catastrophe.  We  know 
that  the  going  down  and  the  death  catastrophe  were  well 
established  hitherto,  as  was  also  the  doing  of  deeds,  murders, 
suicides,  fights,  executions,  or  what  not,  before  the  end  or 
even  the  middle  of  the  play ;  but  "Julius  Caesar"  is  the  first 
of  our  extant  tragedies  in  which  we  see  the  protagonist 
definitely  and  steadily  rise  to  a  single  crisis  deed,  willed  by 
him,  expected  by  the  audience,  and  elaborately  executed  in  a 
well-organized  scene  or  scene-gjoup,  unpreceded  by  violent 
and  distracting  incidents. 

Now  let  us  look  at  Shakespeare's  earlier  tragedies  to  see 
whether  it  is  true  that  there  is  in  none  of  them  a  steady  rise 
to  a  definite  crisis.  The  action  of  "Richard  III"  is  a  series 
of  murders  with  the  most  directly  presented  coming  in  the 
first  act.  The  king  in  "Richard  11"  wavers  among  banish- 
ment decrees,  wars,  recalls,  resistance,  and  abdication.  There 
are  at  least  three  places  for  a  crisis.  In  Act  IV,  Scene  i, 
there  is  a  repetition  of  the  meeting  of  Richard  and  Boling- 
broke  which  occurred  in  Act  III,  Scene  3,  about  the  matter 
of  supremacy.  In  Act  IV  Bolingbroke  calls  upon  Richard  to 
deliver  the  crown,  and  Richard  hands  it  over  with  much 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  129 

accompanying  sentimentality  and   rhetoric.     This  scene   is 
quite  fantastic,  but  it  has  in  it  some  beautiful  verse  and  a 
passage  or  two  of  acute  pathos.    As  Richard  ''ravels  out"  his 
"weaved-up  folly,"  however,  we  get  a  little  tired.    The  scene 
had  possibilities  for  a  crisis-emphasis,  if  the  details  had  only 
been  restrained  and  if  there  had  been  a  definite  crisis  to  em- 
phasize.    With  this  scene  to  reinforce  it,  Richard's  abject 
yielding  to  Bolingbroke  in  Act  III  might  have  been  made  a 
definite   point   of  technic.     After   it,   we   see   Bolingbroke 
ruling.    He  holds  the  trial  of  Aumerle.    But  the  reinforcing 
scene  is  out  of  place.    It  is  somewhat  of  a  setback  to  view  a 
second  time  the  meeting  of  Richard  and  Bolingbroke  over 
the  matter  of  supremacy.    The  later  scene  has  the  effect  of 
recalling  the  earlier,  but  rather  as  a  far-off  echo  than  as  a 
good  strong  accompaniment.     Moreover,  the  other  scene, 
while  logically  the  crisis,  is  not  made  clearly  so  in  the  drama ; 
for  before  it  Bolingbroke  is  presented  as  already  exercising 
kingly  prerogative  in  Act   III,   Scene   i ;   that  is,   sending 
Bushy  and  Greene  to  death  by  a  decree.     By  the  time  we 
reach  the  reiteration  of  the  meeting,  therefore,  he  has  exer- 
cised royal  power  for  seven  hundred  and  ninety-four  lines. 
These  fluctuations  of  a  possibly  definite  point  of  technic 
convince  us  that  though  Shakespeare  had  a  firm  idea  of  the 
clash  of  characters,  he  had  not  yet  in  1597  clearly  conceived 
the  structural  function  of  the  middle  of  the  play  as  crisis  or 
crisis-emphasis,  nor  the  rise  to  these.    The  one  would  have 
made  the  other  two.    Or,  perhaps,  as  the  order  of  my  chap- 
ters in  this  book  reveals  that  I  suspect,  the  crisis-emphasis 
as  an  artistic  entity  really  came  into  consciousness  before  the 
crisis  as  a  purely  artistic  entity  developed.   It  seems  that  the 


130  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

result  of  the  crisis-emphasis  in  ''Julius  Caesar"  occasioned 
the  making  of  subsequent  narrative  crises  into  dramatic 
crises. 

A  bit  of  historical  evidence  is  interesting  here.  For  we 
know  that  these  lines  (Act  IV,  Scene  i,  154-318)  did  not  ap- 
pear in  the  first  published  or  acted  (?)  version  of  the  play 
(Quarto  One,  1597),  but  came  into  notice  with  Quarto 
Three,  1608,  the  title-page  of  which  reads,  ''with  new  addi- 
tions of  the  Parliament  Sceane,  and  the  deposing  of  King 
Richard,  as  it  has  been  lately  acted  by  the  Kinges  Majesties 
servantes  at  the  Globe/'  The  interpretation  of  the  appear- 
ance of  these  lines  for  the  first  time  so  late  as  1608  has 
usually  been  that  they  were  the  mere  restoring  of  a  scene 
originally  written  when  the  rest  of  the  play  was  composed, 
but  suppressed  because  of  Elizabeth's  aversion  to  any  men- 
tion of  deposition  and  her  particular  susceptibility  about 
Richard  11.  Indeed,  historical  record  of  the  suppression  of 
other  references  to  the  deposition  would  bear  out  this  the- 
ory. Were  this  solution  not  so  easy,  the  student  of  structure 
might  offer  another;  namely,  that  after  1600  Shakespeare 
was  conscious  of  the  crisis-deed  and  crisis-emphasis  as  points 
of  structure,  and  returned  to  an  earlier  play  and  inserted  or 
restored  a  scene  in  order  to  strengthen  the  middle  of  the 
action.  Perhaps  Shakespeare  had  come  to  think  that  the 
ascending  of  the  throne  was  the  deed  that  marked  the  real 
crisis  and  that  the  emphasis  of  that  would  be  serviceable  to 
the  whole  effect.  If  such  were  his  thought,  this  insertion 
would  be  natural,  and  would  come,  as  it  does,  immediately 
after  Carlisle's  objection  to  Bolingbroke's 

"In  God's  name  I'll  ascend  the  regal  throne." 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  131 

This  face-to-face  meeting  of  Bolingbroke  and  Richard, 
where  they  both  hold  the  material  crown  literally  by  either 
side,  would  be  indeed  a  crisis-emphasis  if,  as  we  have  said, 
there  were  a  preceding  crisis ;  for  a  crisis-emphasis  is  a 
scene  that  does  not  actually  repeat  an  earlier,  but  in  some 
adequate  way  compels  a  mental  review  of  the  action  up  to 
that  point  and  intensifies  the  crisis  by  indicating  the  tragic 
results  of  what  has  gone  before  and  by  anticipating  the 
catastrophe  through  suggestion  and  a  tragic  incident. 

In  either  case,  we  are  left  with  our  original  proposition 
that  "Julius  Caesar"  is  the  first  of  Shakespeare's  extant 
tragedies  in  which  there  is  clear  evidence  of  a  consciousness 
of  the  crisis-emphasis  as  a  functional  point  of  structure. 

There  are  two  protagonists  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  and 
two  crises,  as  we  have  seen,  but  they  are  not  like  the  two 
crises  in  "Julius  Caesar."  Romeo  comes  upon  his  crisis  by 
accident  and  wishes  to  avoid  it.  His  deed,  not  long  prepared 
and  debated  over,  is  a  quick  stroke  of  friendship  and  duty 
for  Mercutio's  death.  The  audience  has  been  prepared  for 
some  such  stroke,  but  Romeo  has  not.  It  is  only  in  a  very 
limited  sense  an  expression  of  character;  it  is  rather  the 
issuing  of  Italian  tribal  animosity  into  a  deed  made  neces- 
sary by  antecedent  circumstances  and  present  accidents  over 
which  Romeo  had  little  control.  But  Brutus's  is  an  expres- 
sion of  character.  He  strikes  at  tyranny !  Poor  foolish 
philosopher,  he  finds  to  his  dismay  that  tyranny  does  not 
after  all  dwell  in  the  one  weak  body  of  Caesar,  whom  he 
really  loved,  but  in  the  many-headed  crowd  that,  led  by 
Mark  Antony,  revolts  against  him.  The  rise  to  this  effective 
scene,  besides  the  ordinary  mechanical  preparation  for  the 


132  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

events,  is  therefore  necessarily  character  revelation;  in  fact, 
is  also  character  evolution. 

The  only  plays  before  Shakespeare  in  behalf  of  which  one 
might  challenge  the  statement  about  a  lack  of  steady  rise  to 
a  definite  crisis  would  probably  be  Marlowe's  "Jew  of 
Malta"  or  "Edward  11."  But  the  "Jew  of  Malta,"  despite 
its  reputation  for  good  technic,  is  episodic.  Each  episode  is 
well  prepared  and  executed,  but  the  question  in  this  relation 
is,  Which  one  is  the  more  important  ?  Which  is  the  definite 
single  crisis?  Is  it  the  one  where  Barabas  gets  his  money 
by  the  aid  of  Abigail?  Is  it  where  Ithamore  deserts  him? 
Is  it  where  he  is  thrown  over  the  wall  as  dead  and  comes 
to  life  again?  Or  is  it  where  he  attempts  to  lead  the  Turks 
to  his  fatal  bridge  over  the  cauldron?  "Edward  11"  not 
only  presents  the  two  catastrophes  of  Edward  and  Mortimer 
at  the  end  of  the  action,  but  has  two  successive  plays  of  the 
favorites  within.  Which  is  the  important  crisis — the  one 
where  the  king  gives  up  Gaveston,  the  one  where  he  gets  him 
back,  the  one  where  the  nobles  kill  Gaveston,  the  one  where 
they  demand  Spencer,  or  the  one  where  Edward  flees? 
Faustus  we  know  indulges  in  a  dreary  display  of  his  power, 
in  no  sense  an  adequate  rise  to  the  beautiful  effect  of  calling 
up  Helen  of  Troy.  "Tamburlaine"  we  need  not  mention. 
The  nearest  scene  to  a  crisis  there  is  where  Zenocrate  dies 
and  Tamburlaine  finds  himself  for  the  first  time  powerless. 
But  this  is  in  no  real  sense  a  crisis  and  a  reaction;  for 
Tamburlaine  has  not  brought  Zenocrate  to  this  place,  nor 
have  Tamburlaine's  enemies.  A  nearer  approach  to  a  return 
action  is  his  failure  with  his  son,  whom  he  feels  impelled 
to  stab  for  cowardice.     "The  Battle  of  Alcazar"  gives  us 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  133 

Stukely's  rise  only  in  retrospect,  and  presents,  instead,  the 
murders  of  Mooly  Mahamet  the  Moor. 

But  these  bare  possibilities  need  only  be  mentioned  to  show 
how  far  away  they  are  in  technic  and  beauty  from  what  we 
have  reached  in  the  great  central  scenes  of  "J^^^^s  Caesar." 
"The  Misfortunes  of  Arthur"  comes  nearer  to  having  a 
contest  like  that  in  "Julius  Caesar,"  but  the  "Misfortunes 
of  Arthur"  would  represent  the  second  half  of  the  play — 
the  punishment  of  the  conspiracy,  the  revolt  of  the  deed 
upon  the  traitor's  head.  Perhaps  this  likeness  is  the  touch- 
stone of  explanation.  Shakespeare  was  drawing  nearer  to 
classical  conventions.  When  he  seemed  farthest  away,  in 
the  sense  that  he  had  two  plays  in  one,  he  was  really  nearer. 
He  needed  only  acknowledge  the  fact  and  let  them  fall  apart ; 
then  heighten  a  little  the  character  of  Caesar,  who  would 
make  the  antagonist  in  the  first  half,  and  develop  a  little 
the  character  of  Antony,  who  would  make  the  protagonist  in 
the  second  half;  then,  reaching  into  the  future,  get  the 
"Antony  and  Cleopatra"  tragedy,  compress  it,  and  set  it  up 
beside  the  other  two.  There  would  be  Shakespeare's  trilogy ! 
And  it  would  be  better  than  any  Senecan  trilogy,  and  no 
worse  than  many  readers  have  secretly  considered  the  Greek 
trilogies !  But  who  would  exchange  it  for  the  next  four 
"isolated"  plays— "Hamlet,"  "Othello,"  "King  Lear,"  and 
"Macbeth"? 

Yet  howsoever  much  we  turn  away  from  Seneca  and 
howsoever  much  we  like  to  join  the  popular  critics  and  be- 
wail his  influence,  we  must,  if  we  are  honest  students,  ac- 
knowledge the  beneficial  contribution  from  classical  drama 
that  he  handed  over  to  English  tragedy.    We  are  glad  that 


134  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

he  did  not  dominate  English  tragedy  and  that  men  like  Mar- 
lowe and  Shakespeare  were  virile  enough  to  maintain  them- 
selves a  good  while  independent  of  him — until  English 
conventions  had  time  to  establish  themselves ;  but  it  is  never- 
theless to  be  admitted  that  some  restraint  of  technic  was 
desirable  in  compositions  like  "Tamburlaine,"  "The  Battle  of 
Alcazar,"  "Alfonsus  of  Aragon,"  and  even  "Richard  IIL" 
In  "Edward  11"  and  "Richard  III"  it  is  noticeable  that 
some  of  the  murders  are  enacted  behind  the  scenes,  a  fact 
that  bespeaks  a  growing  idea  of  real  climax.  In  "Romeo  and 
Juliet"  we  have  imagined  Shakespeare  as  studying  Senecan 
structure,  and  with  unerring  genius  retaining  or  selecting 
or  adopting  the  best  things,  and  quickening,  them  with  Eliza- 
bethan spirit  and  technic.  In  "Julius  Caesar"  we  find  him 
trying  out  some  of  these  ideas,  the  retributive  motive  and 
the  verbal  debate.  Twice  we  have  the  verbal  debate — once 
the  more  Senecan  one  between  Brutus  and  Cassius ;  once  the 
more  Elizabethan  one,  the  stirring  orations.  We  see  the 
speeches  of  the  contesting  opponents,  such  as  we  had  in  the 
"Richard  III"  catastrophe,  grown  here  in  the  "Julius  Caesar" 
into  real  functional  political  orations.  The  ghost,  too,  has 
been  stepping  farther  toward  a  controlling  place  in  the 
action.  In  the  next  tragedy,  at  any  rate,  we  find  Shakespeare 
dealing  with  a  full  Senecan  theme. 


Chapter  VII 

The  Crisis,  the  Climax,  and  the  Arrest  of  the 
Catastrophe 

If  we  are  correct  in  allowing  Shakespeare  as  much  intelli- 
gence concerning  matters  of  structure  as  the  most  ordinary 
critic  among  us  (that  is,  the  ability  to  see  a  mistake  after  it 
has  happened,  and  to  recognize  an  excellence  after  it  has 
been  evolved),  we  shall  also  be  correct,  then,  in  imagining 
him  dissatisfied  with  the  fact  that  the  play  of  "J^^i^s  Caesar" 
breaks  in  two,  but  pleased  with  the  fact  that  he  had  struck 
off  an  excellent  piece  of  technic  in  the  gradual  rise  to  the 
crisis,  and  had  reached  a  striking  dramatic  effect  in  the  crisis- 
emphasis  and  the  tragic  turn.  To  an  acute  and  practical 
dramatist,  who  was  interested  in  structure  as  well  as  in 
philosophy  and  story,  and  wished  in  his  next  production  to 
avoid  the  technical  mistake  in  "J^^i^s  Caesar,"  what  mate- 
rial already  at  hand  would  appear  better  than  the  old  "Ham- 
let" story,  or  play  ?  There  were  there  the  unpleasant  family 
relations,  to  be  sure,  and  the  usually  unpleasant  ghost;  but 
there  was  also  the  advantageous  revenge  motive  to  bind 
the  play  together  and  there  was  the  hesitating  philosophical 
protagonist  for  a  possible  skilful  rise  and  a  delay  of  the 
revenge  stroke. 

It  might  be  argued  that  all  the  beauties  and  subtleties  of 
the  "Hamlet"  action  come  by  chance,  and  that  Shakespeare 

135 


136  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

did  not  know  what  he  was  doing.  But  surely  such  a  conten- 
tion would  belittle  any  dramatist  who  could  write  a  play 
like  "Hamlet,"  and  particularly  would  do  Shakespeare  gross 
injustice.  It  seems  evident  that  he  knew  what  he  was  doing 
and  chose  his  material  advisedly,  not  only  because  of  the 
popularity  that  the  subject  had  at  that  time,  but  also  because 
of  the  possibilities  of  structure  that  he  had  now  come  to  see 
in  the  material.  If  Shakespeare  as  an  actor  took  a  stage 
part  in  "The  Spanish  Tragedy,"  as  is  possible,  he  would 
hardly  be  indifferent  to  the  central  advantages  of  the  revenge 
motive,  and  he  might  well  have  pondered  between  cues  on 
the  dramatic  faults  and  virtues  of  old  Hieronimo.  To  say 
nothing  of  the  Ur-Hamlet,  in  the  light  of  the  known  popu- 
larity of  K3^d's  play  and  the  quotations  from  it  in  con- 
temporary drama,  as  well  as  its  ownership  by  the  Lord 
Strange's  men,  one  cannot  think  of  Shakespeare  as  "stum- 
bling" upon  the  hesitator  protagonist  or  the  play-within-the- 
play  device.  But  even  without  this  contemporary  testimony 
one  could  not  think  of  Shakespeare  as  coming  untrained  into 
possession  of  the  excellences  of  structure  of  the  "Hamlet" 
action.  It  is  logically  the  next  step  in  advance  after  "Julius 
Caesar." 

We  cannot  go  into  the  question  of  the  authorship  of  the 
original  "Hamlet"  nor  of  how  much  of  the  structure  of 
Shakespeare's  play  was  there  represented.  One  would  be- 
lieve with  Furnival  that  to  Shakespeare  is  due  the  honor  of 
the  hesitator  motive — not  the  inception  of  it,  as  Furnival 
seems  to  imply,  however  (for  surely  the  suggestion  is  found 
in  "The  Spanish  Tragedy"),  but  the  working  of  the  idea  out 
structurally.    If  our  discoveries  so  far  have  been  real  dis- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  137 

coveries  (namely,  the  progress  of  Shakespeare's  attention 
to  the  larger  points  of  structure  in  tragedy),  surely  the 
"Hamlet"  crisis  is  the  next  step,  and  if  that  had  been  taken 
before  by  someone  else  it  seems  strange  that  Shakespeare 
should  have  arrived  so  slowly  at  a  consciousness  of  its  ad- 
vantage. However,  as  was  said,  we  are  not  in  the  contro- 
versy of  Quarto  One,  Quarto  Two,  and  the  Ur-Hamlet ; 
but  rather  have  we  the  object  of  seeing  the  advance  toward 
ideal  structure  represented  in  the  finished  plays  of  Shake- 
speare. 

The  advance  of  "Hamlet"  on  "Julius  Caesar"  lies  in  the 
management  of  the  crisis.  In  "Hamlet"  it  is  kept  wholly 
mental,  the  crisis-deed  is  delayed,  and  the  avenger  and  the 
victim  die  together.  This  fact  is  a  decided  change  from  the 
narrative  source.  The  author  of  the  drama  seems  to  be 
seeking  climax ;  in  other  words,  seeking  to  place  fulfilment 
of  expectation  nearer  the  end  of  the  action.  The  fascination 
of  the  Hamlet  tragedy  as  a  piece  of  structure  is  just  this 
delay  of  the  revenge  stroke.  That  Shakespeare  makes  the 
delay  marvelously  a  matter  of  character  is  his  triumph  over 
his  predecessors  and  is  his  improvement  on  what  he  had 
achieved  in  the  Brutus-Antony  action.  We  say  that  that 
action  may  be  described  as  the  rising  of  a  protagonist  to  a 
planned  material  stroke  that  arouses  an  antagonist  to  an 
opposition  on  which  the  protagonist  wrecks  himself.  But 
such  an  action  is  disunion.  In  "Hamlet"  the  material  stroke 
is  delayed,  and  in  its  stead,  at  the  place  where  it  should  be, 
is  inserted  a  mental  stroke,  which  has  a  peculiar  effect: 
it  performs  for  the  structure  of  the  play  the  same  function 
that  the  material  blow  would  have  performed;  that  is,  it 


138  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

marks  the  crisis  and  starts  the  reaction.  But  it  does  more : 
it  intensifies  that  reaction  six-fold,  while  continuing  the 
primary  expectation  to  the  end  of  the  tragedy.  That  is,  it 
causes  the  death  not  only  of  the  king,  finally  but  of  Hamlet 
himself  and  four  others  first — Polonius,  Ophelia,  Laertes, 
and  the  Queen.  In  other  words,  the  action  of  the  tragedy 
of  ''Hamlet"  has  a  crisis,  a  crisis-emphasis,  and  a  crisis- 
catastrophe.  In  all,  a  sort  of  climax.  This  climactic  effect 
is  reached  by  keeping  the  crisis  mental. 

Nobody  could  deny  the  Senecan  influence  hovering  around 
the  "Hamlet"  play,  even  if  the  ghost  were  not  present  and 
the  author  had  not  started  at  the  Senecan  starting-point  after 
the  murder.  Indeed,  Seneca  is  mentioned  by  way  of  an 
innuendo,  in  Act  II,  Scene  2,  419,  in  Polonius's  comical 
recommendation  of  the  players,  who  can  play  anything. 
"Seneca  cannot  be  too  heavy,  nor  Plautus  too  light,"  he  adds, 
after  his  delectable  bit  of  introduction  to  a  doctor's  thesis  on 
"The  Plays  of  Claudius's  Age."  (Polonius  could  have  done 
the  classification  thoroughly,  it  is  evident,  if  he  had  cared 
to  go  on.)  In  view  of  Polonius's  garrulous  wisdom  we  may 
be  justified  in  according  to  Shakespeare  a  good  deal  of  con- 
scious intelligence  in  matters  of  structure.  In  the  French 
"Hystoire"  and  the  Saxo  Grammaticus  story,  that  lie  back 
of  the  "Hamlet"  play,  Hamlet  "sweeps  to  his  revenge"  imme- 
diately on  conviction  of  the  king's  guilt.  He  kills  the  king, 
burns  the  palace,  and  makes  an  oration  to  the  Danes  to 
explain  his  actions,  as  we  have  already  said.^    This  course 

1  In  contrast  with  Gollancz's  contention  that  perhaps  Shake- 
speare got  hints  for  Brutus's  speech  to  the  Romans  from  Hamlet's 
speech  to  the  Danes,  there  is  a  curious  record  in  North's  "Plutarch" ; 
namely,  that  Brutus  speaks  to  the  players  he  is  sending  to  Rome  to 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  139 

of  events  would  have  served  for  a  so-called  typical  Eliza- 
bethan action.  But  in  Shakespeare's  tragedy  the  crisis-deed, 
the  killing  of  the  king,  is  withheld  until  the  end  of  the  play, 
like  a  Senecan  catastrophe,  and  gives  room  for  much  philo- 
sophical talk,  not  heavy,  but  weighty.  Here  then  is  a 
Senecan  play  that  in  the  best  sense  out-Senecas  Seneca. 

Whether  Shakespeare  found  this  play  of  "Hamlet"  all 
worked  up  to  its  niceties  by  an  obscure  predecessor  whom 
history  has  left  in  the  dark  like  a  ghost  in  the  cellarage 
unexorcised,  or  whether  Shakespeare  created  the  whole 
action  originally  from  Belleforest,  Saxo,  Seneca,  "The  Span- 
ish Tragedy,"  and  other  popular  material  and  devices  of  his 
day,  makes  little  difference  to  the  problem  of  the  structure 
of  the  tragedy  as  it  stands.  The  evidence  remains  that  it 
was  printed  in  Shakespeare's  lifetime  with  his  name  on  the 
title  page,  and  the  final  version  represents  his  judgxnent. 
What  the  play  contains  is  there  because  he  wanted  it  there. 
How  much  better  managed  the  scenes  and  motive  are  than 
in  "The  Spanish  Tragedy"  is  immediately  patent.  There 
we  have  the  revenge  in  kind,  a  life  for  a  life  as  here;  the 
feigned  madness  (Hieronimo)  as  here  (Hamlet)  ;  the  real 
madness  (Isabella)  as  here  (Ophelia)  ;  the  hesitation  of  the 
avenger  to  secure  proof  (Hieronimo  mistrusts  Belimperia's 
letter  as  Hamlet  the  Ghost's  word)  ;  the  play-within-the-play 

be  employed  in  his  games.  So  anxious  was  he  that  everything 
should  be  done  correctly,  that  "he  went  himself  as  far  as  Byzantium 
(he  was  in  exile)  to  speak  to  some  players  of  comedies  and  musi- 
cians that  were  there.  And  he  wrote  unto  his  friends  for  one 
Canutius,  an  excellent  player  that,  whatsoever  they  did,  they  should 
entreat  him  to  play  in  these  plays."  If  Hamlet  gave  Brutus  his 
speech,  Brutus  might  well  have  suggested  Hamlet's  instructions  to 
the  players. 


140  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

to  catch  the  guilty — but  we  need  not  rehearse  the  events ! 
Readers  know  how  much  aHke  they  are  in  enumeration, 
but  how  exceedingly  different  in  development  and  effect. 
Hieronimo  is  more  mad  and  less  spiritual  than  Hamlet,  and 
it  is  evident  that  the  author  of  "The  Spanish  Tragedy" 
merely  stumbled  upon  the  hesitation  idea.  After  Hieronimo 
makes  up  his  mind  he  moves  forward  with  business-like 
despatch.  He  advances  steadily  to  the  play-scene.  He 
really  needed  only  to  be  confirmed  in  his  suspicions;  and 
when  Belimperia  tells  him  the  details  of  the  murder  he 
hurries  onward  with  his  revenge.  The  hesitation  motive  is 
no  part  of  his  final  tragedy.  The  fact  that  the  old  marshal 
uses  the  play  to  compass  his  ends  is  characteristic  of  the 
palace  major-domo,  the  presenter  of  masks,  not  the  hesitator. 
Shakespeare  makes  the  hesitation  and  the  idea  of  the  mock 
play  clearly  matters  of  character.  Hamlet  never  can  make 
up  his  mind.  He  uses  the  play  as  a  psychical  blow.  He 
intends  to  follow  it  with  the  physical,  but  he  does  not.  He 
kills  the  king  only  after  the  king  has  killed  him — only  after 
he  realizes  that  he  must  act  "now  or  never." 

Shakespeare  saw  that  it  would  not  do  to  put  the  physical 
blow  early;  for  after  it  is  struck  the  "Hamlet"  drama  is 
done.  And  it  is  Hamlet  that  we  are  interested  in.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  there  is  the  great  advantage  of  the  face-to- 
face  meeting  of  the  strugglers  at  the  middle  of  the  action. 
This  is  a  Greek  convention;  it  is  a  Senecan  convention;  it 
had  come  to  be  Shakespeare's  opportunity  for  some  of  his 
finest  work.  It  seemed  like  an  indispensable  point  of  struc- 
ture; why  forego  it?  The  play-within-the-play  offered  the 
essentials  without  the  disadvantage  of  retiring  either  of  the 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  141 

contestants.  If  Hamlet  really  meets  the  king  and  accuses 
him  point-blank,  Hamlet  must  strike  the  blow  or  forfeit  all 
respect  of  an  Elizabethan  audience.  The  play-within  offered 
the  solution  of  the  problem.  The  crisis,  to  be  a  crisis  at  all, 
must  contain  the  recognition  by  the  king  that  Hamlet  knows 
of  the  crime,  and  the  recognition  by  Hamlet  that  the  king 
knows  that  Hamlet  knows.  Such  a  recognition  occurs  at 
the  end  of  the  mock  play.  Moreover,  all  men  like  to  see  the 
reaction  of  the  deed  upon  the  doer.  If  Hamlet  is  to  bait 
the  king,  Hamlet  must  expect  reaction,  and  the  audience 
wants  to  watch  the  struggle.  It  has  a  right  to  the  conclusion. 
Despite  the  objection  of  critics  to  the  incongruity  of  the 
double-action  in  popular  Elizabethan  plays,  it  seems  to  me 
that  the  Elizabethans  were  correct  in  their  dramatic  sense 
for  completeness — their  wanting  to  see  the  doer  done,  to 
judge  the  reciprocal  fitness  of  events.  That  is  what  an  audi- 
ence applauds  most  in  comedy;  that  is  what  affords  the 
alleviating  satisfaction  in  tragedy.  Shakespeare  has  proved 
himself  right  for  three  hundred  years.  What  Shakespeare's 
people  wanted  was  more  than  a  Senecan  ghost's  play.  But 
how  beautiful  Shakespeare  made  the  ghost!  "Alas,  poor 
ghost!"  (I  suppose  that  was  the  first  time  a  ghost  had  ever 
been  pitied.)  Yet  Seneca  zuas  too  ''heavy."  The  audience 
naturally  wanted  something  done  before  the  end  of  the 
play.  With  the  device  of  the  mock  play  appeared  a  chance, 
then,  to  the  dramatist  to  have  something  done,  to  start  a 
reaction,  and  yet  not  cut  the  interest  in  two  by  bringing  in  a 
new  set  of  characters  after  the  crisis.  Even  the  part  of 
Fortinbras  in  the  catastrophe  is  prepared  for  very  early. 
Accordingly,    the    play-within-the-play    not    only    served 


142  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Hamlet's  purpose  of  a  psychological  test  of  the  king's  mind 
and  the  ghost's  honesty,  but  it  served  the  dramatist's  pur- 
pose of  a  definite  point  toward  which  to  direct  the  rising 
action ;  in  other  words,  it  offered  a  crisis,  and  a  crisis-em- 
phasis with  a  tragic  incident  that  would  set  the  action 
definitely  toward  the  catastrophe — Hamlet's  catastrophe.  As 
Goethe  in  "Wilhelm  Meister"  has  said  of  this  play,  "The 
hero  has  no  plan ;  but  the  piece  is  full  of  plan." 

The  crisis-emphasis  is  especially  good.  It  is  the  closet 
scene  of  Hamlet  and  his  mother.  It  is  closely  connected 
with  the  rising  action  and  with  the  crisis.  Helped  out  by 
the  doings  of  the  Ghost,  Polonius,  Ophelia,  Rosencrantz, 
Guildenstern,  and  the  players,  Hamlet  the  hesitator  reached 
the  quasi-deed  of  inserting  some  dozen  or  sixteen  lines  into 
an  old  tragedy  to  serve  as  a  trap  to  catch  the  conscience  of 
the  king.  It  caught  the  conscience  of  the  king,  but  it  also 
caught  Hamlet.  Hamlet  did  not  rush  up  at  the  end  of  the 
play-scene  and  kill  the  king  as  he  might  have  done;  but  he 
said  immediately  afterwards  that  he  was  ready  to  do  it. 
However,  when  he  came  accidentally  upon  the  king  at 
prayers,  he  put  up  his  sword.  With  the  words,  "Up,  sword," 
the  crisis  ends,  and  the  emphasis  of  it  begins. 

We  have  seen  that  in  a  certain  sense  the  crisis-emphasis 
in  the  "Medea"  is  a  prototype  of  the  crisis-emphasis  in 
Shakespeare.  Hamlet,  like  Medea  when  she  had  finished  her 
interview  with  Creon,  possessed  all  the  power  necessary  for 
revenge,  but  must  withhold  his  hand,  he  said,  until  he  had 
tested  his  mother.  Medea  must  see  Jason.  This  is  in  both 
cases  a  philosophical  and  structural  excuse.  Hamlet  finds 
the  mother  as  cowardly  and  shallow  as  Medea  finds  Jason ; 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  143 

but  effects  with  her,  because  of  his  love  and  for  the  sake 
of  his  further  scheme,  as  Medea  effected  with  Jason,  a  par- 
tial reconciliation.  Quarto  One  has  a  full  reconciliation  and 
a  partnership  struck  up  between  the  avenger  and  his  aunt- 
mother  ;  but  Shakespeare  thought  better  of  the  matter  and 
realized  that  the  full  justification  of  the  catastrophe  could 
come  only  the  other  way.  Hence  he  changed  to  the  second 
quarto  reading. 

In  the  conference,  Hamlet  recalls  first  conditions  (an 
excellent  function  of  the  crisis-emphasis  point)  ;  intensi- 
fies the  mouse-trap  scene  by  asserting  the  king's  guilt  (the 
raison  d'etre  of  such  a  point  of  structure  as  this)  ;  directs 
the  action  downward  by  impulsively  killing.  Polonius  (the 
tragic  turn)  ;  anticipates  the  subsequent  course  of  events 
when  he  says  :  "I  must  to  England,  you  know  that?"  (a  con- 
nective device)  ;  and  emphatically  prophesies  the  catastrophe, 
when  he  says  he  took  Polonius  for  his  better,  and  that  he 
would  trust  his  school-fellows  as  he  would  adders  (an  ele- 
ment that  revives  our  confidence  in  the  plot  of  the  play  and 
our  belief  in  its  final  solution).  It  may  be  noted — perhaps  as 
a  coincidence — that  the  crisis  is  followed  and  the  catastrophe- 
emphasis  preceded  in  both  the  "Medea"^  and  the  "Hamlet" 
by  a  soliloquy  or  monologue  wherein  the  author  of  revenge, 
while  gloating  over  his  opportunity,  measures  his  spirit  and 
sets  a  limit  to  his  impetuosity.  Undramatic  as  the  conven- 
tion of  the  Senecan  soliloquy  is,  we  would  hardly  forego 

^The  nurse  is  present  (a  Senecan  disregard  of  the  accessory  char- 
acters), but  it  is  perfectly  evident  from  what  the  nurse  says  earlier 
that  Medea  is  talking  to  herself,  and  it  is  evident  from  Medea's 
own  speech  that  she  is  talking  to  herself:  "Si  quaeris  odio,  misera, 
quern  statiias  modum,"  etc. 


144  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

any  of  Hamlet's  talks  to  himself.  Shakespeare  justifies 
the  device  to  our  souls  if  not  to  our  patience.  It  was  left 
to  Ibsen,  in  this  modern  more  hurried  and  "artistic"  age 
to  do  away  with  the  undramatic  private  thinking  in  public. 
The  improvement  is  a  great  gain  to  theater-goers  but  a  loss 
to  literature. 

It  seems  hardly  necessary  to  review  the  action  of  "Ham- 
let" for  itself;  but  we  might,  by  a  quick  reference  to  a  play 
so  thoroughly  known,  make  a  convenient  allusive  summary 
of  the  points  of  structure  that  we  have  so  far  seen  the  Eliza- 
bethans conscious  of,  and  in  addition  thus  get  our  bearings 
for  what  points  remain — remain  either  because  they  have 
not  yet  at  the  time  of  "Hamlet"  been  developed,  or  because 
we  as  critics  were  compelled  by  the  necessity  of  progress 
and  clearness  of  thought  on  larger  matters  to  forego  them 
a  while.  We  review,  then,  not  in  the  time  order  of  the 
development  but  in  the  dramatic  order  of  use  in  this  play. 

The  "Hamlet"  action  opens,  as  the  "Julius  Caesar"  and 
as  the  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  open,  with  a  keynote  scene, 
which  raises  expectation  high  enough  to  admit  of  a  long 
retrospective  narrative,  in  which  the  state  of  affairs  at  Elsi- 
nore  is  explained  and  Hamlet's  melancholy  revealed.  Scene 
3  is  given  over  to  a  little  group  of  personages  of  somewhat 
independent  interest:  Polonius,  Laertes  and  Ophelia.  And 
Scenes  4  and  5  introduce  the  exciting  motive  definitely :  the 
ghost  speaks  the  word  "Revenge,"  and  in  a  frenzy  Hamlet 
assumes  the  duty  and  declares  that  he  will  remember  nothing 
else.  The  introduction  is  complete  at  the  end  of  Scene  5, 
[  and  the  rise  of  the  action  begins  at  that  place  where  we 
[  feel  that  Hamlet  has  his  problem  and  hesitates  to  meet  it. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  145 

The  ghost  has  come ;  Hamlet  has  pledged  himself,  has  pre- 
pared his  friends  by  swearing  them  to  silence,  and  proposes 
himself  as  ready  to  act,  but  immediately  complains  of  the 
times  and  of  his  problem. 

Two  months  later,  at  the  beginning  of  the  second  act,  we 
find  him  with  nothing  done ;  so  the  rise  towards  the  crisis 
proceeds  through  two  stages :  the  love-mad  theory  and  the 
play-scheme  (Act  II,  Scenes  i  and  2).  A  difference  be- 
tween ''Hamlet"  and  "The  Spanish  Tragedy"  is  their  differ- 
ence in  the  use  of  the  play-within.  Kyd  compasses  the 
catastrophe  with  it;  Shakespeare,  the  crisis.  This  change 
alone  would  indicate  that  Shakespeare  thought  carefully 
about  the  crisis,  knowing  *The  Spanish  Tragedy"  so  well  as 
he  knew  it.  After  the  crisis  comes  the  crisis-emphasis  with 
the  tragic-incident  that  turns  the  action  towards  a  catas- 
trophe for  Hamlet  as  well  as  for  the  king.  The  enlivening 
of  the  fall  of  this  drama  is  accomplished  by  two  devices 
extraordinarily  well  employed ;  an  appeal  to  the  pathetic 
in  the  Ophelia  episode  and  to  the  grotesque  in  the  grave  dig- 
gers' scene  (Act  IV,  Scene  2;  Act  V,  Scene  i).  (This 
matter  of  devices  and  that  of  auxiliary  characters  and  the 
exposition  we  have  yet  to  take  up.)  The  banishment  of  y 
Hamlet,  his  reappearance  in  Denmark,  and  the  duel  are  the 
three  steps  on  toward  the  catastrophe,  which  presents  the 
death  of  the  Queen,  Laertes,  Hamlet,  and,  most  important 
of  all — the  delayed  revenge-stroke — the  death  of  the  guilty 
king  at  the  hands  of  the  hero.  But  before  the  catastrophe 
falls,  the  author  inserts  the  incident  of  the  final  suspense, 
or  the  arrest  of  the  catastrophe,  as  I  like  better  to  call  it. 

There  is  fair  proof  in  the  various  editions  of  this  play 


146  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

that  Shakespeare  appreciated  the  incident  of  the  final  sus- 
pense, though  it  is  a  nice  point  of  tectonics,  and  a  doubter 
might  readily  argue  that  it  comes  by  chance  and  only  from 
the  influence  of  the  story-source.  Not  so.  Shakespeare 
definitely  elaborated  it,  and  made  it  more  intense,  as  we 
see  by  the  change  from  the  First  Quarto. 

By  the  arrest  of  the  catastrophe,  or  the  incident  of  the 
final  suspense,  in  this  tragedy,  we  mean  the  fact  that  after 
the  spectator  has  been  thoroughly  convinced  that  Hamlet 
must  go  down  before  the  King's  and  Laertes's  plans  to 
poison  him,  there  is  a  holding  up  of  that  conviction  for  a 
few  seconds.  It  comes  about  thus:  Hamlet  begins  to  win 
the  duel  and  the  poisoned  rapier  does  not  touch  him;  but 
the  audience  remembers  the  poison  for  the  cup.  "That  will 
catch  him  if  the  rapier  does  not!"  And  just  as  expected! 
The  King  stops  the  play  when  it  is  all  on  Hamlet's  side 
and  calls  for  the  drink.  The  audience  knows  that  one  of 
these  stoups  of  wine  is  to  be  poisoned;  for  with  an  elabo- 
rate speech  of  compliment  to  Hamlet,  the  King  has  said  that 
he  is  going  to  drop  something  into  the  wine  of  one  cup  as  a 
great  gift  to  Hamlet,  which  Hamlet  shall  get  when  he  drinks 
for  refreshment  after  the  victory.  These  are  the  words  the 
king  used  (in  the  1604  quarto)  : 

Set  me  the  stoups  of  wine  upon  the  table. 

If  Hamlet  g^Ye  the  first  or  second  hit, 

Or  quit  in  answer  of  the  third  exchange. 

Let  all  the  battlements  their  ordnance  fire; 

The  King  shall  drink  to  Hamlet's  better  breath; 

And  in  the  cup  an  Unice  shall  he  throw, 

Richer  than  that  which  foure  successive  Kinges 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  147 

In  Denmark's  Crown  have  worne.     Give  me  the  cup; 

And  let  the  kettle  to  the  trumpet  speak, 

The  trumpet  to  the  Cannoniere  without, 

The  Cannons  to  the  heavens,  the  heaven  to  the  earth, 

Now  the  King  drinks  to  Hamlet,  come,  beginne. 

And  you  the  Judges  beare  a  wary  eye. 

[Trumpets  the  while.] 

Accordingly,  the  king  stops  the  fencing  now  and  calls  for 
the  wine;  for  he  fears  that  Hamlet  is  not  going  to  call  for 
it.     The  King  says : 

"Stay ;  give  me  drinke.    Hamlet,  this  pearle  is  thine ; 
Here's  to  thy  health ;  give  him  the  cup." 

But   Hamlet  says — and  in  his  reply  is  the  arrest  of  the 
catastrophe — 

"I'll  play  this  bout  first;  set  it  by  a  while. 
Come." 

This  is  an  effective  point  of  structure.  I  have  seen  the 
drama  acted  a  number  of  times,  but  I  have  never  seen  the 
audience  fail  to  clap  at  these  words.  The  surprise  and 
the  relief  are  intense.  Shakespeare  meant  that  they  should 
be.  No  one  who  has  examined  the  two  quartos  can  hold  a 
doubt  about  the  matter  of  Shakespeare's  studied  providence 
here.  He  deliberately  lengthened  and  strengthened  the 
preparation  for  the  surprise.  He  inserted  in  the  second 
quarto  all  that  we  have  quoted  about  the  stoups  of  wine  and 
the  union  (or  the  "unice,"  as  it  is  spelled  in  the  old  print), 
and  all  the  king's  getting  ready  of  the  poison  before  our  eyes 
under  the  pretense  of  the  orient  pearl  of  great  value  that  he 


148  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

is  dropping  into  the  cup  for  Hamlet.  There  is  no  mention 
in  Quarto  One  of  the  cups.  All  we  know  of  the  poison  is 
the  talk  between  Laertes  and  the  King  in  a  previous  scene, 
the  talk  that  we  also  have  in  the  second  quarto  with  more 
elaboration  and  with  the  difference  that  the  King  suggests 
both  ways  of  poisoning.  In  this  scene  of  the  duel,  however, 
in  the  first  draft  of  the  play  as  we  have  it  in  Quarto  One, 
there  is  only  the  fencing,  and  then, — 

King. — Here  Mantlet  the  king  doth  drinke  a  health  to  thee. 
Queene. — Here  Hamlet,  take   my  napkin,   wipe   thy   face. 

King. — Give  me  the  wine. 
Hamlet. — Set  it  by,  Fie  have  another  bowt  first, 

rie  drinke  anone. 
Queene. — Here    Hamlet,     thy    mother    drinkes    to    thee. 
(Shee  drinkes.) 
King. — Do  not  drinke  Gertred :    O  'tis  the  poysned  cup ! 

Shakespeare's  expansion  by  heightening  the  surprise  and 
the  great  relief  of  Hamlet's  refusal  make  the  catastrophe, 
when  it  comes,  keener  but  withal  more  acceptable.  We  want 
to  see  Hamlet  die  doing  something,  not  carried  off  stark 
and  a  victim.  It  is  an  echo  of  this  arrest  of  the  catastrophe 
that  Hamlet  and  Laertes  in  the  struggle  exchange  rapiers ; 
but  Hamlet  is  already  wounded.  This  exchange  is  only  a 
device  to  end  Laertes  also  and  by  his  own  treachery.  The 
multiple  deaths  come  to  us  softened  by  Hamlet's  piece  of 
good  luck — or  prescience,  shall  we  call  it?  Through  this 
earlier  surprising  relief  of  the  tension  of  our  sensibilities 
we  are  ready  for  the  end  of  the  action  when  it  comes. 

H  the  elaboration  of  Quarto  Two  at  this  point  in  the  play 
were  occasioned  by  the  fact  that  this  drama  was  presented 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  149 

at  the  entertainment  given  to  the  king  and  his  Danish  bride, 
the  argument  that  Shakespeare  realized  that  the  arrest  of  the 
catastrophe  is  an  effective  point  of  structure,  is  not  over- 
thrown but  is  rather  confirmed ;  for  what  more  natural  than 
that  he  should  select  a  place  in  the  action  for  his  particular 
Danish  embellishments  where  they  would  be  prominent 
themselves  and  serve  to  enhance  the  climactic  effect  of  the 
piece  as  a  whole?  Indeed,  this  seeking  a  good  place  for 
additions  might  in  itself  have  created  the  realization  of  the 
value  of  the  arrest  of  the  catastrophe.^ 

This  point  of  structure  is  taken  up  here  in  the  chapter  on 
''Hamlet,"  because  the  evidence  that  Shakespeare  was  con- 
scious of  it  by  this  time  and  used  it  deliberately  is  very 
strong.  We  find  something  like  the  arrest  of  the  catastro- 
phe in  the  "Richard  III"  action,  where  the  announcement 
comes  to  Richard  that  Buckingham's  army  is  dispersed  by 
the  flood  and  he  himself  has  wandered  away  alone.  But  the 
presence  of  the  sudden  change  in  the  expected  evil  may 
result  there  (Act  IV,  Scene  4,  Lines  5-10)  wholly  from  the 
chronicle,  or  the  use  there  may  be  due  to  Shakespeare's 
interest  in  his  protagonist's  moods.  Moreover,  the  place  in 
the  action  is  a  little  early  for  what  I  mean  by  the  arrest 
of  the  catastrophe.  The  tension  hardly  justifies  the  insertion 
of  relief  at  a  place  more  than  a  whole  act  before  the  fall  of 
the  catastrophe.  Anxiety  is  just  beginning  in  earnest; 
Richard  is  yet  to  send  Buckingham  to  the  block.  The 
facile  and  interesting  touch  of  having  Richard  strike  the 
messenger  and  then  "cure"  the  blow  with  the  present  of  a 
purse  is  characteristic  of  a  tyrant,  and  amuses  rather  than 
relieves — especially  where  there  is  scarcely  any  feeling  to 


150  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

relieve.  We  have  not  seen  Richmond.  This  incident,  then, 
of  the  third  messenger  could  be  interpreted  as  a  sketch  of 
personality  and  as  a  connecting  incident ;  for  it  reveals  that 
Buckingham  is  helpless — news  that  prepares  us  for  the  next 
messenger  but  one  v^ho  announces  that  Buckingham  is  taken, 
and  for  the  following  scene  (Act  V,  Scene  i)  that  pre- 
sents Buckingham  on  the  way  to  execution  conducted  by 
Richard's  sheriff.  Then,  too,  the  incident  is  one  of  a  num- 
ber of  "Enter-messengers,"  and  may  be  but  a  varied  part 
to  help  make  up  the  whole  of  a  bustling  court  scene  on  the 
eve  of  a  war. 

Freytag  mentions  the  next  messenger's  report,  that  Rich- 
mond has  sailed  for  Brittany,  as  the  force  of  the  final  sus- 
pense. It  is  a  suspense ;  but  it  is  hardly  emphasized  enough 
to  be  clearly  a  functional  point  in  the  play.  Moreover,  I  am 
not  sure  that  Shakespeare  was  conscious  of  the  advantages 
beyond  those  that  wc  have  noticed  for  the  Buckingham 
episode.  However,  Freytag  may  be  right.  The  incidents 
are  certainly  the  kind  of  material  that  could  be  used  for 
such  points.  I  have  held  over  the  discussion  of  the  arrest 
of  the  catastrophe,  however,  on  purpose,  to  the  place  in 
Shakespeare's  development  ("Hamlet,"  Q.  2),  where  evi- 
dence is  strong  enough  to  make  us  sure  that  the  dramatist 
and  not  the  original  narrative  only  was  responsible.  Frey- 
tag might  better  have  said,  perhaps,  that  we  have  there  in 
"Richard  IH"  an  incident  that  could  have  been  used  appro- 
priately later  in  the  action  as  a  force  of  the  final  suspense. 
But  we  see  that  it  is  far  from  the  end — four  hundred  and 
fifty-four  lines  away,  with  six  other  scenes  following.  In 
"Hamlet"  what  I  have  described  as  the  arrest  of  the  catas- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  151 

trophe  occurs  only  one  hundred  and  twenty  lines  from  the 
end;  and  in  ''Othello"  the  same  point  occurs  one  hundred 
and  thirty-one  lines  from  the  end. 

I  do  not  agree  with  Freytag,  either,  in  his  certainty  of 
the  use  of  the  device  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet."  Freytag  calls 
the  going  of  the  Friar  to  the  tomb  the  arrest  of  the  catas- 
trophe. It  may  be ;  but  the  action  is  not  a  surprise.  It 
is  in  direct  line  with  the  story  of  the  play  and  with  what  has 
gone  before  dramatically.  This  last  fact  must  be  true,  of 
course,  of  any  arrest  of  the  catastrophe;  namely,  that  it 
be  not  unduly  abrupt  or  discordant  with  what  precedes :  it 
must  come  as  a  surprise  yet  come  naturally.  But  what  I 
wish  to  say  here  is  that  since  the  action  of  Friar  Laurence 
is  expected  by  us  if  Romeo  fails,  inasmuch  as  the  friar  is 
Romeo's  confidant,  we  are  not  surprised  to  see  him  start  on 
his  way,  however  glad  we  may  be  to  have  him  go.  The 
next  scene,  rather,  comes  nearer  to  being  what  I  mean. 
Paris's  arrival  is  a  surprise,  and,  against  our  previous  con- 
viction, we  really  hope  that  he  will  interfere  with  Romeo 
to  the  effect  of  delaying  him  from  his  purpose  of  suicide 
until  Juliet  awakes.  But  Romeo  kills  Paris  and  the  turn 
downward  is  made  more  sharp.  However,  I  am  not  sure 
that  Shakespeare  was  not  here  merely  indulging  in  the  gen- 
eral Elizabethan  convention  of  killing  off  all  the  principals 
on  both  sides.  What  I  understand  by  the  final  arrest  of  the 
catastrophe  as  a  point  of  structure  as  Shakespeare  uses  it 
is  this:  it  is  an  incident  (in  the  root  sense  of  the  word  as  a 
"cutting  into"  or  "across"  the  falling  action),  inserted  near 
the  end  of  the  play  to  give  a  brief,  unexpected  but  welcomed 
respite,  serving  for  a  momentary  relief,  but  finally  futile  to 
hold  up  the  catastrophe,  which  falls  thereafter  with  aug- 


152  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

mented  force.  There  is  no  doubt  about  Shakespeare's  use 
of  this  effective  artifice  in  his  finest  dramas.  After  the 
1604-Quarto  of  **Hamlet,"  the  arrest  of  the  catastrophe  is 
plain  as  a  point  of  structure  in  tragedy. 

We  have,  then,  in  "Hamlet"  as  an  advance  on  "Julius 
Caesar"  the  conquering  of  the  crisis — the  making  of  it  men- 
tal and  a  true  continuer  of  the  action  since  it  does  not  com- 
plete the  rise  but  prolongs  it,  by  presenting  instead  of  the 
material  blow  something  far  more  characteristic  of  the 
hero  under  the  circumstances  than  the  material  blow  would 
have  been.  We  have  also  an  excellent  example  of  the 
arrest  of  the  catastrophe,  a  point  of  structure  evidently 
thought  over  and  worked  out  with  care.  These  changes  in 
structure  help  to  make  the  action  more  climactic. 

But  "Hamlet,"  though  the  dramatist's  hope  was  doubtless 
that  it  would  not,  does  drag  to  a  considerable  extent  in  the 
fourth  act.  The  return  of  the  king  upon  Hamlet  is  so 
patent  that,  though  Hamlet  has  still  his  work  to  do,  the 
spectator  almost  feels  that  it  is  done,  and  that  he  is  watch- 
ing the  king's  play.  Shakespeare's  structure  problem  after 
the  second  quarto  of  "Hamlet,"  then,  was  to  maintain  the 
tragic  struggle  but  avoid  a  change  of  dominance.  In 
"Hamlet"  the  revenge  motive  had  become  practically  double, 
though  it  at  first  promised  a  single  construction  line.  With 
the  hesitator  motive  joining  the  revenge  motive,  the  crisis 
became  mental  but  thereby  the  play  became  extended,  both 
on  account  of  the  delay  of  the  revenge-stroke  and  the  oppor- 
tunity for  philosophizing. 

Shakespeare's  use  of  the  Senecan  retrospective  narrative 
here  is  not  much  happier  than  its  prototype.     Hamlet's  re- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  153 

counting  of  his  adventures  on  being  shipped  to  England, 
while  it  attains  a  sort  of  unity,  is  still  somewhat  similar 
to  Theseus's  report  of  the  nether  regions  while  Hercules  is 
murdering  Lycus ;  for,  though  we  are  interested  to  know 
about  the  journey  in  both  cases,  we  hardly  feel  patient 
enough  in  the  midst  of  impending  tragic  events  to  listen 
to  a  mere  recital.  Shakespeare's  changing  of  the  Queen's 
part  occasioned  his  putting,  this  retrospective  narrative  into 
Hamlet's  mouth  rather  than  Horatio's  as  before.  Shake- 
speare inserts  accordingly,  also  earlier  in  the  piece,  the 
direct  letter  of  Hamlet  to  the  King.  This  serves  as  a 
second  after-echo  of  the  crisis.  In  the  way  of  frightening 
Claudius,  Hamlet  writes :  "Tomorrow  shall  I  beg  leave  to 
see  your  kingly  eyes." 

As  we  noticed  earlier,  Shakespeare  appeals  to  episode  in 
addition  to  retrospective  narrative  to  help  him  out  in  this 
fourth  act.  He  was  not  altogether  free,  I  imagine,  to  do 
what  he  pleased  with  the  source.  Perhaps  the  story  was 
too  well  known  to  be  changed  greatly ;  maybe  the  old  play 
was  fairly  well  fixed  in  public  consciousness,  or  even 
in  the  repertoire  of  Shakespeare's  company.  Shakespeare's 
chief  additions  in  the  second  quarto  may  have  been,  as  some 
one  has  asserted,  for  the  most  part  trenchant  philosophy. 
Yet  it  is  no  small  matter  structurally  to  have  worked  out 
the  incident  of  the  arrest-of-the-catastrophe  and  to  have  set 
forth  definitely  as  an  architectonic  ideal  a  mental  crisis  for 
the  middle  of  a  tragedy. 


Chapter  VIII 
Unity,  the  Exciting- Force,  and  the  Exposition 

Shakespeare  seemed  surely  in  1604  well  equipped  as  a 
tragic  dramatist.  He  had  concepts  of  a  catastrophe,  a 
protagonist  and  antagonist  at  struggle,  a  keynote  scene,  a 
rise  to  a  well-defined  mental  crisis,  a  crisis-emphasis  includ- 
ing a  tragic  incident,  the  arrest  of  the  catastrophe,  and, 
over  all  and  with  all,  as  sovereign,  an  inimitable  power  of 
character-revelation.  Yet  there  was  at  least  one  attain- 
ment he  lacked  and  was  conscious  of  needing,  to  wit :  struc- 
tural unity,  or,  as  he  thought  of  it,  probably,  command  over 
the  interim  between  the  crisis-emphasis  group  of  scenes 
and  the  catastrophe  group,  the  fourth  act  of  our  modern 
texts.  It  would  hardly  be  fair  to  Shakespeare's  intelligence, 
we  remind  ourselves  again,  to  imagine  that  he  did  not  feel 
that  his  earlier  tragedies  were  somewhat  epic  in  form  and 
his  later  ones  double.  Despite  his  masterful  use  of  episode, 
his  fourth  acts  in  ""''ulius  Caesar"  and  ''Hamlet"  are  com- 
parative failures. 

What  did  he  do  that  resulted  in  strengthening  this  weak 
place?  He  reconsidered  his  structural  motive.  He  short- 
ened one-half  of  his  "typical"  action  and  very  much  length- 
ened the  other.  He  chose  a  story  that  allowed  him  to 
arrange  a  Senecan  (or  Greek)  pair  of  strugglers,  Othello 
and  Desdemona;  and  a  Senecan   (or  Greek)   pair  of  de- 

154 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  155 

baters ;  one,  the  holder  of  the  title-role,  pushed  to  his  doom ; 
the  other,  the  causer  of  the  action,  representing  malignant 
fate  and  personal  meanness  (Othello  and  lago).  I  have 
recorded  in  a  previous  chapter  that  I  think  that  Shake- 
speare became  interested  in  the  Senecan  pair  of  debaters  in 
his  study  of  Brutus  and  Cassius,  but  that  he  could  not  stop 
then  to  develop  all  the  dramatic  possibilities  since  his  crisis 
was  set  before  him  and  his  path  prepared  by  history.  In 
"Othello"  WQ  have  the  Cassius-Brutus  action  free  with 
Cassius  changed  into  lago  and  Brutus  into  Othello,  and 
Caesar,  Desdemona.  Mark,  I  do  not  mean  that  the  char- 
acters are  the  same.  Of  course,  Desdemona  is  not  Caesar 
in  any  way  but  as  the  victim ;  and  lago  is  not  Cassius  except 
that  he  works  Othello's  will  up  to  the  murder  somewhat  as 
Cassius  works  Brutus's.^  It  was  perhaps  Shakespeare's  own 
Brutus  who  suggested  the  swift  close  of  the  '"Othello" 
action :  he  said  that  when  Caesar  was  dead,  all  that  one  who 
loved  Caesar  could  do  was  to  die  with  Caesar.  Just  so 
Othello  dies.  There  is  no  need  of  an  outside  reaction  and 
another  play.  Othello  himself  brings  the  tragedy  to  a  close. 
This  ending  is  different  from  the  story  source.  There 
Othello  denies  his  deed,  is  apprehended,  and  banished. 

But  the  implication  was  made  also  in  a  previous  chapter 
that  it  is  the  second  half  of  the  so-called  typical  Elizabethan 
action  that  is  Senecan-like.  It  is,  in  the  sense  that  that  is 
the  half  which  includes  the  catastrophe.  Either  half  would 
be  Senecan  if  it  were  only  considered  as  a  whole  play  and 
not  a  half.    The  two  halves  are  what  is  called  Elizabethan, 

^  lago  practices  also  on  Roderigo  and  not  unfrequently  takes 
our   ears   with   a   sharp   reminiscence  of   Cassius;   for   instance, 
"  'Tis  in  our  selves  that  we  are  thus  or  thus." 


156  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

or  "Shakespearean,"  or  "Brutus-Antonian,"  or  anything  that 
will  connote  the  doubleness.  We  are  to  deal  most  in 
"Othello"  not  with  the  Brutus-Antony  situation,  but  with 
the  Brutus-Cassius,  which  ends  with  the  murder  and  the 
emphasis  of  it.  Emilia  bears  the  part  of  Antony  in  this 
action.  She  brings  the  world  in  on  the  Moor  to  judge 
his  deed.  But  there  is  no  long  "Emilia"  play  to  follow; 
for  the  Moor  judges  himself  and  there  is  little  need  of 
Emilia  and  the  world.  If  Brutus  had  slain  himself  when 
the  citizens  ran  to  his  house,  the  action  outlines  of  these 
two  dramas  would  be  analogous.  Not  identical,  naturally; 
for  the  Othello  drama  with  all  its  general  simplicity  is  more 
complex  in  particulars  and  obviously  much  longer  than  the 
rising  action  of  the  "Julius  Caesar."  The  connotation  I 
wish  to  suggest  here  is  merely  that  the  "Othello"  is  a  rising 
action,  and  stops  at  the  highest  point.  Of  the  Julius  Caesar 
play,  we  called  the  Mark-Antony  speech  and  the  citizen's 
pulling  up  of  the  benches  the  crisis-emphasis.  It  is  also  the 
highest  point,  though  it  is  not  the  end  of  the  presented 
action.  In  "Hamlet"  we  saw  the  climactic  efifect  of  holding 
the  crisis-deed  for  the  end  of  the  play.  In  "Othello"  we  get 
a  real  climax.  The  action  is  a  ladder  that  does  not  break 
in  two  in  the  middle,  and  that  has  no  steps  leading  down  on 
the  other  side.  It  is  a  simple,  straight  ladder  that  seems 
to  run  "up"  or  "down"  according  to  your  point  of  view. 
If  you  think  of  Othello  as  at  the  height  of  his  prosperity 
and  happiness  at  the  beginning  of  the  play,  you  think  of  him 
as  descending  step  by  step  to  his  doom.  If  you  think  of 
him  as  inactive  at  the  beginning,  you  think  of  him  as  rising 
to  the  most  vehement  expression  of  his  passionate  nature 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  157 

at  the  end  of  the  play.  If  you  think  of  lago  as  the  causer 
of  events,  you  think  of  him  as  rising  step  by  step  in  his 
intellectual  control  of  the  Moor  to  the  very  top  rung  of 
success.  If  you  think  of  him  as  a  human  being  given  over 
to  the  vices  of  the  intellect,  you  see  him  descending,  in 
the  morality  of  that  intellect  step  by  step  as  he  pushes  the 
ingenuous  creature  he  is  controlling  down  the  ladder  from 
noble  deeds  to  base  ones.  The  descent  of  lago  himself,  how- 
ever, is  really  not  like  that  of  Othello  from  light  into  dark- 
ness, but  is  from  darkness  into  blackness.  At  the  beginning 
lago  is  able  to  set  men  wrong  by  ingenious  suggestion,  but 
before  he  has  finished  the  action  he  there  begins,  he  descends 
to  the  use  of  insinuation  and  barefaced  lies,  the  immorality 
of  weaklings.  At  the  close  of  the  play  he  goes  forth  alive 
but  doomed  to  death.  We  will  think  of  the  action  as 
rising. 

I  do  not  wish  to  be  understood  as  saying  that  the 
"Othello"  is  in  any  sense  classical  or  Senecan  except  in  some 
parts  of  the  skeleton  of  the  action  and  in  the  situation  of 
the  contestants.  There  is  something  peculiar  here.  The 
play  is  an  Italian  romantic  Elizabethan  production.  It  is 
Elizabethan  in  the  mere  fact  that  the  exposition  begins  far 
forward  from  the  crisis.  The  author  has  a  retrospective 
story  to  tell,  but  he  sets  it  forth  in  "acting"  scenes,  at  the 
same  time  revealing  the  personality  of  his  characters.  He 
changes  them  a  great  deal  from  their  prototypes  in  the 
novella.  There  lago  is  in  love  with  Desdemona,  and 
Cassio's  disgrace  is  consequent  upon  his  own  deed  unplanned 
by  the  ensign. 

The  rise  to  the  middle  scenes  is  made  through  two  stages : 


158  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

the  Cassio-Roderigo  quarrel;  and  the  handkerchief  acci- 
dent, in  which  fate  tragically  reinforces  the  schemer.  Act 
III  opens  with  two  little  preparatory  scenes:  one,  Cassio 
seeking  word  with  Desdemona;  the  other,  Othello  making 
ready  to  walk  on  the  ramparts,  whence  he  shall  come  in 
time  to  see  Cassio  leave.  With  Cassio's  leaving  begins 
lago's  direct  work  on  Othello's  mind.  And  what  a  scene 
follows!  The  keener  intellect  and  baser  soul  turns  the 
weaker  intellect  and  nobler  soul  upside  down  and  wrong 
side  out.  Insinuations  and  echoes  raise  doubt;  specious 
philosophy  and  cunning  suggestion  strengthen  it;  and  a 
bold  lie,  fatally  backed  by  an  accident,  establishes  it,  until 
at  the  end  of  the  struggle  the  victim  says : 

"Look  here,  lago, 
All  my  fond  love  thus  do  I  blow  to  heaven: 
'Tis  gone ! 

Arise,  black  vengeance,  from  thy  hollow  cell ! 
Yield  up,  O  love,  thy  crown  and  hearted  throne 
To  tyrannous  hate!     Swell,  bosom,  with  thy 

fraught. 
For  'tis  of  aspics'  tongues!" 

(Act  III,  Scene  3,  1.  442) 

From  this  point  on,  lago  has  only  to  direct  the  powerful 
creature  that  he  has  aroused.  His  hold  on  Othello  is  fixed. 
The  Moor  goes  out  to  demand  the  handkerchief,  to  strike 
the  woman,  to  do  the  murder.  But  it  is  lago  who  directs 
the  action ;  it  is  he  who  says,  "Strangle  her  in  her  bed."  The 
action  is  therefore  still  rising. 

For  his  third  act,  Shakespeare  got  from  the  source  the 
villain's  tricks  of  persuasion— his  seeming  to  deny  what  he 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  159 

asserts,  and  his  apparent  desire  to  withhold  information  that 
he  ought  to  give.  Likewise  the  author  got  the  handker- 
chief incident,  and  Desdemona's  advocacy  of  Cassio;  but 
he  changed  lago's  personality,  making  him  a  colder,  more 
disinterested,  and  intellectual  villain.  Shakespeare  changed, 
too,  the  particulars  of  the  theft,  making  Desdemona's  first 
losing  of  the  handkerchief  an  accident — a  simple  yet  ex- 
tremely forcible  use  of  fate — a  happier  use  than  the  novella 
makes  when  it  has  Cassio,  coming  to  Desdemona's  back 
door  to  deliver  the  handkerchief  that  lago  has  stolen,  run 
plump  into  Othello  and  then,  through  timidity  and  sudden 
caution,  turn  and  flee  in  a  compromising  manner.  The 
transference  of  the  fate  element  from  the  one  to  the  other 
incident  seems  the  stroke  of  genius  that  helps  create  plot 
unity.  However,  since  in  the  novella  the  ensign  steals  the 
handkerchief  while  he  decoys  the  victim  with  his  own  little 
daughter,  Shakespeare's  reluctance  to  touch  the  episode, 
though  it  is  very  dramatic,  may  result,  as  some  one  has  sug- 
gested, from  an  innate  reverence  for  childhood,  and  not 
mainly  from  the  plan  of  the  action  of  the  drama.  It  is 
noteworthy,  however,  that  the  change  detracts  from  the 
concreteness  of  lago,  makes  him  less  a  person  by  not  being 
a  father. 

But  whatever  the  explanation,  the  fact  is  before  us :  After 
the  beginning  of  the  rise,  the  action  moves  forward  in  a 
straight  line  to  the  catastrophe.  lago  announces  his  course 
and  pursues  it  to  the  end  without  opposition.  It  is  startling 
to  notice  that  he  declares  his  motive  to  be  revenge,  though 
nobody  believes  him,  not  even  Emilia,  who  echoes  his  dec- 
laration later  in  the  play ;  and  he  does  not  believe  himself, 


160  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

for  he  acknowledges  that,  had  he  not  the  pretended  motive 
of  revenge,  he  would  yet  pursue  his  course.  What  does  this 
declaration  signify?  Is  it  anything  besides  an  effective 
stroke  in  a  superb  delineation  of  a  villain? 

What  does  this  indefiniteness  of  motive  within  lag.o  mean  ? 
Can  it  be  the  revelation  of  a  new  plan  of  structure  on 
the  part  of  the  dramatist?  Can  it  mean  that  lago  has  no 
motives,  but  is  himself  a  motive? 

The  debate  between  lago  and  Othello  keeps  the  middle 
scenes  of  the  play  mental  and  prolonged,  and  keeps  the  ac- 
tion constantly  rising.  We  must  inquire  specifically  into 
the  technic  here.  Many  critics  have  asserted  its  superiority, 
but  none  that  I  know  of  has  explained  it.  Professor  George 
P.  Baker  has  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  in  this  play  there 
is  a  "fourth  act  perfect  for  all  time" ;  but  he  does  not  tell 
us  how  it  happens  to  make  the  effect ;  he  does  not  analyze. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  say,  he  does  not  show  us  how 
the  structure  is  pre-arranged  to  make  this  effect.  I  wonder 
whether  or  not  a  demonstration  is  possible? 

Some  one  might  say  that  the  sense  of  unity  comes  because 
the  dramatist  does  not  introduce  new  important  characters 
after  the  crisis.  But  will  this  restraint  completely  account 
for  the  effect?  The  dramatist  does  not  introduce  impor- 
tant characters,  but  he  introduces  new  ones — almost  as 
many  as  in  ''Hamlet."  In  ''Othello"  they  are  Bianca, 
Gratiano,  Lodovico,  and  "officers."  The  clown  seems  new, 
but  he  has  been  in  before.  In  "Hamlet"  the  new  characters 
are  not  important,  either.  They  are  the  grave-diggers,  the 
priests,  "gentlemen,"  Osric,  Fortinbras,  and  Soldiers.  For- 
tinbras  comes  nearest  to  being,  important;  but  he  has  been 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  161 

well  prepared  for,  both  by  mention  and  by  anticipation  of 
what  he  does.  He  hardly  seems  new.  Yet  in  "Hamlet"  we 
feel  the  double  action. 

Another  might  say  that  the  sense  of  unity  is  present  be- 
cause dominance  does  not  change  sides ;  that  lago  is  the 
protagonist  and  continues  so  to  the  end  of  the  play ;  whereas 
in  "Hamlet"  after  the  crisis  Claudius  really  takes  up  the 
action  and  becomes  the  protagonist.  But  the  answer  is,  that 
in  a  very  large  measure  Othello  is  the  chief  agent  in  the 
second  half  of  the  "Othello"  action.  Of  course,  as  I  have 
tried  to  make  plain  elsewhere,  there  is  not  in  the  same  way 
as  in  "Hamlet"  and  in  "Julius  Caesar"  a  second  half  of 
the  "Othello"  tragedy;  but,  nevertheless,  after  all  is  said 
about  lago's  being,  the  protagonist,  and  there  being  no 
change  of  actors,  we  notice  that  it  is  Othello's  and  not 
lago's  hands  that  do  the  choking,  and  it  is  Othello's  and 
not  lago's  dagger  that  takes  the  life  of  the  Moor. 

lago  unmistakably  plays  a  different  part  from  that  of  any 
of  Shakespeare's  previous  characters.  He  is  most  like 
Richard  III,  but  even  a  child  can  see  that  lago  is  a  much 
finer  study  than  Richard.  lago  is  a  palpable  villain,  but 
there  is  something  elusive  about  him.  He  is  more  unhuman 
than  Richard.  Richard  is  in  no  small  part  a  devil  and  in- 
human, but  he  is  also  in  no  small  part  a  man  and  a  person- 
age, lago  is  more  of  a  thought  and  a  tendency.  I  offer 
this  statement  as  a  solution  of  the  dilemma  that  gives  occa- 
sion to  two  opinions  of  critics :  one  maintaining  that  lago  is 
the  protagonist;  one,  that  Othello  is.  They  both  are! 
Othello  is  the  body  and  lago  is  the  mind.  Brutus  and 
Hamlet  do  their  own  thinking :  but  Othello  does  not  do  his. 


162  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

lago  does  it  for  him.  Brutus  and  Hamlet  have  each  a 
starter  from  outside,  but  their  thoughts  are  their  own. 
Othello's  are  never  for  one  moment  his  own  after  lago 
insinuates  himself  into  Othello's  nature.  lago  is  a  visible 
phenomenon  of  tyrannous  hate :  he  is  as  light,  as  agile,  but 
as  persistent  as  a  thought.  In  the  intense  scene  where 
Othello  completely  admits  lago,  just  as  a  person  sometimes 
completely  admits  a  hovering  and  persistent  idea,  Othello 
expresses  at  once  his  own  surrender  and  lago's  nature: 

''Yield  up,  O  love,  thy  crown  and  hearted  throne 
To  tyrannous  hate.    Swell,  bosom,  with  thy  fraught, 
For  'tis  of  aspics'  tongues!" 

lago  is  not  slow  to  "get  within,"  so  to  speak.  He  realizes 
his  sovereignty,  and  also,  like  a  malicious  thought,  he  tries 
to  make  Othello  believe  that  Othello  is  master.  When 
Othello  kneels  to  register  his  vow,^  lago  kneels  in  accom- 
paniment, and  the  two  are  indissolubly  joined.     lago  says: 

"Do  not  rise  yet. 
Witness,  you  ever-burning  lights  above, 
You  elements  that  clip  us  round  about. 
Witness  that  here  lago  doth  give  up 
The  execution  of  his  wit,  hands,  heart. 
To  wrong'd  Othello's  service !     Let  him 

command. 
And  to  obey  shall  be  in  me  remorse, 
What  bloody  business  ever." 

*A  kneeling  and  vow  were  not  new  dramatic  business.  Ed- 
ward II  kneels  and  vows  vengeance  on  the  nobles  for  Gave- 
ston's  death.  Tancred  kneels  and  vows  to  punish  Gismunda. 
Tancred's  situation  is  not  totally  unlike  Othello's,  but  Tancred 
is  correct  in  his  suspicions  and  Othello  is  not. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  163 

Now,  lago  has  no  intention  of  doing  the  "bloody  business" 
himself.  He  means  to  lend  only  the  first  of  his  enumerated 
proffers — his  wit!  Othello  must  be  the  hands  and  the 
feet.  If  not  the  feet,  then  the  other  "gull"  must  be  the 
feet.  If  Othello  will  not  descend  so  low  as  to  be  the  feet 
for  this  pernicious  intellect,  then  Roderigo  must  run  here 
and  there  to  do  the  mischief.  lago  is  not  so  much  con- 
cerned with  getting  bloody  deeds  executed,  however,  as  in 
getting  control  of  the  Moor.  The  next  speech  takes  lago 
a  little  by  surprise,  perhaps,  but  he  answers: 

"My   friend   is  dead;   'tis   done   at  your  request. 
But  let  her  live." 

That  her!  Could  anything  be  more  like  a  persistently  re- 
curring thought  than  lago's  method  of  attack?  The  Puri- 
tan who  got  the  law  passed  against  swearing  in  plays,  if  he 
ever  once  became  interested  in  the  action  of  this  tragedy, 
would  hardly  cavil  at  Othello's  strong  language  at  this 
point,  I  think.  As  Othello  says  elsewhere,  he  surely  would 
gladly  have  forgot  her  just  now.  But  it  is  part  of  lago's 
plan  that  Othello  shall  never  forget,  and  never  lack  a  di- 
recting thought.  As  a  baleful  intellect  lago  is  seated  sure 
between  Othello's  shoulders.    Othello  says  naively, 

"Now  art  thou  my  lieutenant." 
lago  replies  promptly, 

"I  am  your  own  forever." 

We  need  hardly  discuss,  therefore,  these  two  persons  as 
the  protagonist  and  the  antagonist  of  the  play ;  but  rather 


164  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

as  protagonist  and  inciting  motive.  After  the  entrance  of 
that  motive  into  Othello's  mind  the  two  are  one.  Desde- 
mona  becomes  the  antagonist,  the  sufferer,  in  this  drama 
of  maliciousness  and  fate. 

This  is  the  first  of  Shakespeare's  tragedies  where  the 
inciting  motive  of  the  action  is  indisputably  personified  in  a 
human  being.  We  saw  a  near  approach  to  the  idea  in  the 
relationship  of  Brutus  and  Cassius ;  but  Cassius  was  an  his- 
torical personage  and  Brutus  is  represented  as  being  already 
susceptible  to  the  idea  of  the  tyrant's  being  killed.  Cassius 
had  but  to  persuade  Brutus  that  Brutus  was  to  lead.  But 
here,  lag.o  has  not  only  to  suggest  method  but  to  he  the 
thought  that  works  in  the  mind  of  the  executor  of  the 
action.  The  ghost  was  the  exciting  force  in  Hamlet's  play ; 
but  it  was  more  of  a  convention  than  lago  is.  The  ghost's 
presence  was  effective  as  spectacle  and  served  as  an  oppor- 
tunity for  philosophy  and  poetry,  and  was  somewhat  more 
concrete  than  Hamlet's  flitting  thought,  but  it  was  not  inti- 
mately connected  as  cause  with  every  presented  event  of 
the  play.  But  lago  is:  he  is  the  personization  (if  I  may 
coin  the  word)  of  the  inciting  motive.  Take  your  text 
and  look  carefully  through  it  and  you  will  find  that  there 
is  not  a  single  scene  in  which  he  is  not  the  prime  mover  or 
the  malicious  participator.  He  actually  appears  in  every 
scene  as  our  modern  texts  are  divided,  every  scene  except 
two — that  of  the  proclamation,  which  consists  solely  of  the 
message  (13  lines)  and  that  of  Desdemona's  willow  song. 
Of  this  last  he  is  unmistakably  the  cause. 

lago  was  something  new  in  tragedy  in  1604.    How  potent 
he  was  for  structure  we  see!     There  can  be  no  mistake 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  165 

about  his  use  in  this  drama.  He  holds  the  parts  together 
as  effectively  as  the  law  of  gravitation  keeps  one  of  our 
mighty  buildings  intact.  From  the  bottom  to  the  top  he  is 
present.  And  again,  like  the  law  of  gravitation,  he  is  more 
of  a  principle  than  a  fact,  and  more  of  a  man's  thought  than 
a  man.  Critics  have  repeatedly  complained  that  lago  is  at 
once  human  and  not  human.  His  humanity  and  his  non- 
humanity  are  at  this  date  Shakespeare's  especial  achieve- 
ment :  lag.o's  non-humanity  is  the  underlying  structure  of 
the  piece,  while  his  humanity  is  Shakespeare's  triumph  over 
his  own  technic. 

"Othello"  is  not  the  last  tragedy  in  which  Shakespeare 
made  use  of  a  personated  element  of  structure,  although 
lago  is  his  supreme  example.  We  recognize  Goneril, 
Regan  and  Edmund  as  filial  ingratitude  active — surely  they 
are  not  altogether  human  beings.  Lady  Macbeth  is  the 
personal  inciting-force  of  Macbeth's  actions  as  the  witches 
are  the  symbolic.  But  by  the  time  the  poet  comes  to  writing 
"Lear,"  "Macbeth"  and  "Antony  and  Cleopatra,"  he  is  deeply 
engrossed  with  other  matters  besides  pure  structure  and 
even  besides  characterization. 

Obviously,  one  could  not  mean  that  lago  is  no  more  than 
an  abstraction,  nor  even  that  he  is  no  more  than  an 
objectification  of  a  thought.  He  is  very  convincing  in  the 
action.  It  is  only  when  we  reflect  on  him  that  we  see  his 
artificial  make-up.  That  other  dramatists  saw  the  advan- 
tage of  him  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  he  reappeared  again 
and  again  in  later  tragedy.  He  is  on  the  stage  today  in 
melodrama.  And  what  makes  such  otherwise  poor  plays  so 
generally  acceptable  is  the   simplicity  of  the  construction 


166  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

line.  Nobody  has  to  sit  and  wonder  why  a  certain  scene  is 
brought  on  or  what  it  means. 

Shakespeare  won  the  unity  of  "Othello"  not  by  an  empha- 
sized protagonist,  as  Tamburlaine  and  Richard  the  Third 
each  is,  but  by  an  emphasized  structural  cause  for  the  events. 
The  revenge  motive  is  all  but  lost  in  ''Hamlet"  more 
than  once,  as  the  ghost  reminds  the  hero.  It  practically 
is  lost  with  the  ghost's  last  appearance ;  for  the  hesitator 
motive  wins  at  the  crisis.  The  ascent  is  made  easily  enough 
with  the  thought  of  killing  the  king,  but  the  descent  with 
the  thought  of  killing.  Hamlet  is  not  so  easy ;  for  there  is  no 
material  justification  for  Claudius.  The  constructive  line  of 
the  scenes,  then,  must  be  spliced  with  another  length  and  a 
slight  knot — the  Laertes  revenge  motive.  It  is  of  great 
advantage  structurally,  though,  that  Claudius  tells  us  what 
he  means  Laertes  to  do.  We  are  more  engaged  than  we 
otherv/ise  should  be  with  the  events.  The  catastrophe  is 
well  managed.  But  the  scenes  in  the  fourth  act  come  more 
by  chance,  and,  beautiful  as  are  those  presenting  Ophelia, 
do  not  quite  satisfy  dramatically.  They  leave  a  sense  of 
disjointedness,  the  epic  feeling  of  "and,"  "and,"  not  of 
"therefore." 

At  only  three  places  in  the  succession  of  scenes  in 
"Othello"  do  we  lack  the  feeling  of  "thereforeness"  imme- 
diately, the  feeling  that  lago  has  caused  the  action;  these 
three  places  are  (i)  the  landing  at  Cyprus,  (2)  the  herald's 
proclamation  of  thirteen  lines  of  Othello's  permission  to  the 
garrison  to  enjoy  his  wedding  celebration,  (3)  the  tiny  con- 
necting scene  of  six  lines  where  Othello  goes  to  walk  on 
the  ramparts.     A  word  about  these  exceptions.     The  first 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  167 

one  is  evidently  momentous.  But  since  Iag.o  has  just  told 
us  that  he  intends  to  make  the  Moor  jealous  and  to  "have 
Michael  Cassio  on  the  hip,"  we  are  wide-awake  to  every 
movement  of  Cassio,  Desdemona,  Othello,  or  lago.  Before 
the  scene  is  finished,  we  see,  directed  by  lago's  announce- 
ment, the  ''little  web  with  which  he  will  ensnare  as  great  a 
fly  as  Cassio."  From  there  on  every  scene  represented 
(except  the  two  connecting  ones  I  have  mentioned)  is  not 
only  interpreted  by  lago,  but  caused  by  him — even  every 
incident  but  the  two  that  are  of  fate  and  chance :  the  drop- 
ping of  the  handkerchief  and  the  appearance  at  the  right 
time  of  Bianca.  Of  these  the  spectator  is  sure  nobody  can 
make  more  diabolical  use  than  lago.  lago  snatches  the 
handkerchief  from  Emilia  as  his  own  crisis-deed.  But 
structurally,  though  it  is  important,  it  is  only  a  step  in  the 
rising  action.  This  surely  includes  the  scene  which  follows, 
the  interview  as  a  result  of  which  lago  becomes  firmly 
seated  in  Othello's  mind  as  its  directing  force. 

Now  it  is  pertinent  to  ask,  what  is  this  scene  structurally  ? 
What  is  its  nature  and  function  ?  It  might  technically  be  called 
"the  entrance-of-the-exciting- force,"  that  point  in  the  struc- 
ture where  it  is  evident  that  the  protagonist  has  his  problem 
clearly  before  him  and  is  wrought  up  to  direct  coming 
events.  Granted  that  lago  is  the  inciting  cause  and  Othello 
the  protagonist,  then  this  middle  scene  of  the  play  becomes 
truly  a  mental  crisis  for  Othello.  But  though  it  is  a  critical 
test  of  Othello,  it  is  in  no  sense  a  turning  point  of  the 
action;  though  it  is  one  of  the  middle  scenes  of  the  play, 
it  is  not  the  end  of  the  rise  and  the  beginning  of  the  reac- 
tion.   The  murder  of  Desdemona  is  that.    The  mental  crisis 


168  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

here  in  the  middle  of  the  play  is  not  a  turning  point  of  the 
structure.  Shakespeare  was  seeking  to  avoid  that  ill  result, 
and  he  brought  out  strongly  in  consequence  this  excellent 
aid  to  effective  action,  namely,  a  definite  marking  of  the 
entrance  of  the  eScciting  force. 

This  excellence  is  one  thing  that  is  lacking  in  the  "Julius 
Caesar"  drama.  The  point  where  Brutus  makes  up  his  mind 
is  not  shown.  There  are  the  hints  of  Cassius  and  the 
ambiguous  replies  of  Brutus,  but  we  do  not  witness  the  men- 
tal struggle.  That  is  hidden  behind  the  scenes.  "What 
you  would  work  me  to  I  have  some  aim,"  says  Brutus.  But 
his  next  announcement  is,  "It  must  be  by  his  death,"  show- 
ing that  Brutus  has  already  made  up  his  mind  to  help  in 
the  assassination.  What  he  gives  us  in  the  soliloquy  is  his 
reasons  for  this  decision.  We  have  missed  the  tragic  strug- 
gle. Portia  narrates  it  in  retrospect  when  the  consequences 
are  already  in  operation — "yesternight  at  supper,"  etc.  In 
"Othello"  the  struggle  is  presented  directly. 

This  struggle  is  a  full  psychic  crisis  such  as  was  not 
attained  in  "Hamlet."  Hamlet's  play-scene  is  a  substitution 
for  the  crisis-deed,  and  is  a  full  structural  crisis  for  the 
action  of  the  piece ;  but  it  is  only  partly  a  crisis  of  mind  for 
Hamlet  the  protagonist,  since  Hamlet  has  already  accepted 
his  duty  before  the  play-scene.  It  is  more  of  a  psychic  crisis 
for  the  antagonist.  The  mock  play  is  a  functional  crisis  in 
the  structure,  since  although  a  substitution  for  the  expected 
material  deed,  it  helps  form  a  turning  point  in  the  action. 
Othello's  vow  is  not  a  substitution  for  any  expected  ma- 
terial deed,  but  is  really  a  crisis  of  mind  for  Othello.  In- 
stead of  being,  a  turning  point  in  the  course  of  the  terrific 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  169 

events,  it  is  rather  the  definite  beginning  of  those  events. 
Everything  previous  has  been  a  rise  to  this  scene,  the  com- 
ing into  Othello's  mind  of  the  thought.  Everything  from 
now  on  is  the  working  out  of  that  thought  into  a  terrible 
deed,  is  a  continued  rise.  There  is  to  be  no  exchange  of 
interests:  there  is  here  in  this  scene  a  consolidation  of 
them — lago  and  Othello  from  now  on  work  together  to 
bring  about  the  subsequent  events. 

The  handkerchief  scene  between  Othello  and  Desdemona 
is  the  reinforcing  emphasis  of  the  scene  of  the  entrance  of 
the  exciting  thought.  It  follows  immediately  and  is  a  veri- 
table repetition  and  confirmation  of  the  harrowing  mental 
crisis  just  past.  This  emphasis  scene  contains  the  mot  de 
sittiation,  which  is  truly  tragic.  "The  handkerchief!  the 
handkerchief !  the  handkerchief !"  We  have  seen  the  accident 
of  the  losing  of  it;  we  have  seen  lago  snatch  it  from  his 
wife's  hand ;  we  have  heard  him  lie  most  boldly  about  it  to 
the  Moor;  we  have  a  clear  recollection  of  the  Moor's  last 
speech : 

"I  will  withdraw 

To  furnish  me  with  some  swift  means  of  death 

For  the  fair  devil." 

A  second  before  he  entered,  we  saw  the  gentle  lady  not  a 
little  disturbed  because  she  could  not  find  the  handkerchief. 
And  now  she  is  much  frightened  with  the  reiteration  and 
the  passionate  narrative  of  her  lord  concerning  its  charms. 
She  is  grieved,  she  is  startled,  she  loves  her  husband,  and 
does  not  want  him  to  be  vexed.  He  has  made  her  appre- 
hensive. Consequently,  she  asserts  what  she  is  not  sure 
is  the  truth,  but  what  she  hopes  is  the  truth ! 


170  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

"I  say  it  is  not  lost,"  she  falters.  This  speech  is  the 
tragic  incident  for  Desdemona.  The  giving  of  the  tragic 
incident  to  the  antagonist  is  a  Senecan  convention.  With  it, 
Desdemona  becomes  part  agent  of  her  catastrophe.  She 
seemingjy  incriminates  herself  by  her  further  advocation  of 
Cassio.  If  she  had  been  less  persistent  in  her  pleading, 
or  less  stubborn  in  her  silence,  all  might  have  been  well. 
She  could  have  called  Emilia  in  and  questioned  her  again, 
and  the  three  together  might  have  arrived  at  the  truth  about 
the  machinations.  With  her  worldly  and  suspicious  wit, 
Emilia  doubtless  would  have  seen  through  the  Moor's  state 
of  mind  and  have  realized  the  great  importance  of  the  hand- 
kerchief. With  her  love  to  Desdemona  as  strong  as  it 
proved  to  be,  Emilia  might  have  confessed  as  she  con- 
fessed later.  But  Shakespeare  is  right  again.  This  is  a 
play  in  which  trifles  light  as  air  may  be  made  important. 
When  we  think  of  lago's  consummate  skill  and  Othello's 
intenseness,  we  realize  that  the  present  scene  is  more  nat- 
ural and  at  the  same  time  more  tragic  than  a  rational  one 
would  be,  though  the  catastrophe  seems  to  result  from  an 
accident  and  a  fib.  It  does  not  so  result  fundamentally,  we 
have  seen.  Everything  results  from  lago.  Shakespeare 
touches  the  tragic  element  there  is  in  stubbornness  and 
equivocation  with  just  the  right  emphasis  here.  In  the  next 
drama  a  larger  treatment  makes  somewhat  the  same  situa- 
tion painfully  unconvincing. 

But  in  "Othello"  things  are  dramatically  correct  if  you 
admit  the  personified  exciting-force.  Events  must  go  just 
so  with  a  starter  and  interpreter  always  at  hand.  lago 
acts  on  the  course  of  the  drama  precisely  like  a  precon- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  171 

ceived  notion  in  a  man's  affairs.  There  is  no  possibility 
of  an  understanding  between  Othello  and  Desdemona  so 
long  as  lago  is  about.  He  comes  upon  the  interview  just 
closed  with  the  same  cutting  insistence  as  an  unwelcome 
thought:  "There  is  no  other  way,"  he  says,  as  he  pushes 
Cassio  into  Desdemona's  presence.  That  Cassio  should  do 
with  the  handkerchief  just  what  best  concerns  lago's  pur- 
pose seems  no  stranger  in  this  play  than  in  life,  where 
fateful  coincidences  once  in  a  while  occur.  The  happening 
is  over  quickly,  and  what  the  dramatist  means  to  do  with 
it  is  running  full  tilt  before  we  have  time  to  question.  We 
know  that  if  lago  does  not  win  one  way  he  will  another. 
It  is  the  winning  that  we  are  anxious  about,  not  the  method. 
He  rises  steadily,  we  say,  to  the  top  rung  of  success. 
Othello  can  not  free  himself  for  a  minute  from  this  clinging 
obsession,  this  incorporate,  diabolical  jealousy  and  malicious- 
ness. Othello  can  regain  his  own  personality  only  after 
carrying  into  effect  lago's  wish. 

The  murder  of  Desdemona  is  what  would  have  been  the 
crisis-deed  in  a  typical  Elizabethan  pre-Hamlet  tragedy.  It 
is  easy  to  see  what  Shakespeare's  practice  with  the  hesi- 
tator  motive  taught  him,  and  how  much  more  truly  a  climax 
the  play  of  "Othello"  is  than  the  play  of  "Hamlet." 

In  the  story,  Othello  does  lago's  bidding  and  then  denies 
the  deed.  Shakespeare  and  his  Elizabethan  audience  knew 
better  how  to  end  a  tragedy.  We  dare  to  align  ourselves 
with  them  against  the  critics  and  say,  it  is  more  dramatically 
entertaining,  more  wholesome,  to  see  the  reaction  than  to 
be  left  to  guess  it.  The  people  who  ride  in  the  subway  to 
the  playhouse  and  sit  in  the  gallery  at  the  performance  may 


172  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

well  complain  to  some  of  our  modern  theorists  whose 
dramas  lead  nowhere,  ''Came  we  for  this  from  depths  of 
underground?"  Shakespeare  knew  his  audience,  we  have 
said,  and  he  knew  the  long  established  favorite  scene.  He 
gave  it.  There  is  no  jog,  no  breaking  of  the  play  in  two. 
The  machinations  of  lago  are  a  long  structural  rise  to  a 
climax  made  up  of  the  death  of  Desdemona  and  a  quick 
reaction  including,  the  death  of  Othello.  The  destruction 
of  the  Moor  is  lago's  reason  for  being  in  this  play.  The 
whole  unified  action  is  the  working  of  his  nature  out  into 
deeds  in  the  lives  of  others.  And  his  nature  is  that  of  a 
malicious  thought.  The  end  is  inevitable  dramatically,  what- 
ever it  might  be  in  the  story.  Emilia  is  just  true  enough, 
intense  enough,  and  brief  enough  in  her  life,  poor  girl,  to 
serve  for  the  occasion  of  the  reaction.  She  is  not  the  cause 
of  Othello's  death.  lago  is  the  cause.  Othello  himself 
is  the  agent.  O  the  pity  of  it,  lago !  the  pity  of  it !  For  he 
was  great  of  heart. 

So  far  as  conquering  the  effect  of  doubleness  depends  on 
the  proportion  of  the  number  of  lines  in  the  first  to  the 
number  of  lines  in  the  second  part  of  a  typical  Shakespearean 
action,  "Hamlet"  is  an  advance  on  "Julius  Caesar,"  and 
"Othello"  may  be  said  to  be  a  complete  success.  Develop- 
ment of  the  inciting-motive  very  much  lengthened  the  rise, 
and  in  "Othello"  practically  made  the  whole  play  a  rise. 
But  there  is  in  this  matter  of  the  development  of  the  first 
half  of  the  action  a  more  primal  reason  for  the  effect  of 
unity  than  either  strength  or  length  of  the  rise;  namely, 
excellent  introduction. 

Now,  the  first  part  of  the  rise  of  the  "Othello"  action 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  173 

consists  in  lago's  confidences  with  Othello  and  his  gradually 
getting  control  of  Othello's  thoughts.  The  introduction  to 
that  action  must  consist,  then,  of  a  characterization  of  lago 
and  also  of  retrospective  narrative  enough  to  make  the 
situation  clear.  Such  is  exactly  what  we  get  in  the  first  act. 
And  it  was  not  in  the  source  of  the  play.  It  is  Shake- 
speare's work.  One  can  hardly  imagine  a  dramatist  writing 
this  first  act  who  had  not  clearly  in  mind  what  he  meant 
lago  to  do  and  to  be. 

Shakespeare  made  up  the  whole  introduction.  He  could 
easily  enough,  if  he  had  not  been  engrossed  with  the  prob- 
lems of  lago,  have  given  his  attention,  as  he  did  in  "Romeo 
and  Juliet"  to  writing  out  and  prefixing  the  courtship  of 
the  lovers.  But  his  expansion  beyond  the  story  took  the 
form  of  an  exposition  of  lago's  nature ;  and,  as  I  have  said 
earlier,  it  is  noteworthy  that  Shakespeare's  additions  and 
omissions  tended  to  detract  from  the  concreteness  and  hu- 
manity of  lago,  but  to  increase  his  incisive  intellectual  na- 
ture and  directive  force.  lago  is  clearly  brought  out  in  the 
introduction  as  inimical  to  everybody  and  as  the  power 
that  shall  control  the  coming  action.  He  is  both  confidant 
and  motive.  "If  I  were  the  Moor,  I  would  not  be  lago,"  he 
confesses  to  Roderigo;  and  "I  am  not  what  I  am,"  he  tells 
the  audience.  That  "Knavery's  plain  face  is  never  seen  till 
used"  we  realize  fully  only  after  we  have  watched  lago 
direct  the  tragedy  of  Othello,  the  Moor  of  Venice.  And 
how  terrific  the  relationship  of  confidant  can  be  we  realize 
only  after  Shakespeare  has  remade  the  Senecan  convention. 

We  know  that  Shakespeare  studied  Senecan  matters  again 
in  the  motiving  of  the  "Hamlet"  action.    Here  in  "Othello" 


174  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

he  is  interested  in  the  Brutus-Cassius  situation  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  mutual  relation  of  the  confidants.  lago, 
we  see,  is  presented  as  the  confidant  of  the  Moor  and  Emilia 
as  the  confidant  of  Desdemona.  It  is  obvious  that  we  have 
here  in  this  new  and  virile  form  a  relationship  of  the  old 
plays  made  really  dramatic.  As  we  think  about  it  we 
realize  that  the  Senecan  confidants  are  to  their  principals 
only  as  wishes  and  purposes  set  upon  legs.  They  go  hither 
and  thither  to  do  a  bidding  or  they  stand  still  to  listen  to  a 
monologue.  By  them  the  dramatist  reveals  the  thoughts 
and  the  struggles  of  his  heroes  with  fate. 

In  the  first  line  of  "Othello"  we  hear  that  lago  "knew 
of  this" ;  in  other  words,  is  Othello's  confidant.  lago  denies 
that  he  knew,  but  his  very  position  as  informer  to  Roderigo 
reveals  the  fact,  and  we  realize  later  that  he  is  Othello's  con- 
fidant. In  Scene  2,  indeed,  he  is  directly  presented  as  such. 
We  find  out  likewise  through  lago's  first  conversation  that 
he  is  curiously  bad — bad  intellectually.  Now,  the  Senecan 
confidants  are  always  good,  in  the  matter  of  faithfulness  at 
least.  But  what  if  one  should  not  be  faithful,  and  instead 
of  standing  and  listening  to  all  the  communications  about 
motives  and  about  the  action  to  which  the  principal  is  mak- 
ing up  his  mind,  should  turn  around  and  furnish  the  mo- 
tives— should,  as  it  were,  be  the  evil  motive  that  pushes  the 
superior  on  to  works  of  death  ?  Would  not  that  relationship 
be  tragic  and  afford  a  very  simple  and  plain  construction 
line?  The  ghost  was  Hamlet's  evil  fate,  in  a  way,  forcing 
him  out  of  his  own  proper  personality  into  that  of  a  schemer 
and  an  assassin.  But  the  personality  of  Hamlet  overtopped 
that  of  the  ghost  and  the  structure  broke  down.    lago,  how- 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC  175 

ever,  never  leaves  his  sphere  and  the  action  never  breaks 
down.  His  opportunity  to  be  always  on  the  scene  comes 
from  his  position  as  confidant ;  and  the  fact  that  he  is  more 
or  less  incorporeal  likewise  comes  from  his  position  as  con- 
fidant. How  much  more  virile  and  dramatic  and  tragic 
lago  is  than  the  old  Senecan  weaklings  is  measured  by  how 
much  more  virile  and  dramatic  he  is  as  a  thought.  He  is 
much  better  than  Friar  Laurence,  though  Friar  Laurence 
is  more  active  and  Elizabethan  than  previous  Senecan  crea- 
tures. Emilia,  too,  is — an  Elizabethan  nurse,  I  was  going 
to  say — is  a  Senecan  convention  made  new  and  intense, 
though  she  is  not  so  new  and  strange  and  fascinating  as 
lago.  What  Shakespeare  could  do  with  Senecan  conven- 
tions is  no  more  clearly  shown  in  the  tragedy  of  "Hamlet" 
than  in  the  tragedy  of  "Othello."  lago,  the  Moor's  ancient, 
his  confidant,  his  evil  thought,  the  motive-force  of  his  ac- 
tions, his  tragedy!  But  one  asks,  Was  not  lago  in  the 
novella f  Yes  and  no.  An  ensign  was  there  who  was  in 
love  with  "Disdemona."  The  Ensign,  despairing  of  corrupt- 
ing the  virtuous  lady,  abused  her  to  the  Moor  and  lied  about 
a  Captain,  whom  she  had  favored  because  the  Moor  liked 
him.  But  in  the  story  it  is  the  Moor  who  really  seeks  lago 
after  the  first  suspicion  and  gives  him  occasion  for  his 
fabrications.  Then,  also,  the  Moor  is  less  noble  in  the  story 
and  much  freer  from  the  company  of  the  Ensign,  and  Emilia 
does  not  at  all  live  with  "Disdemona."  She  lives  at  home, 
where  "Disdemona"  visits  her  occasionally.  The  Senecan 
relationship  of  the  confidants  was  arranged  by  Shakespeare. 
It  was  carefully  prepared  in  the  first  act. 
.  We  have  said  that  the  exposition  is  Elizabethan  in  the 


176  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

activity  of  the  scenes.  It  is  Senecan,  obviously,  in  having 
the  content  of  those  scenes  retrospective  chiefly,  rather 
than  forward-moving.  There  is  an  attempt  to  set  a  dra- 
matic time  and  keep  near  it.  Before  the  development 
revealed  in  "Othello,"  Shakespeare  would  likely  enough 
have  disregarded  the  time  element  altogether,  or  practically 
altogether;  but  here,  it  is  obvious,  he  is  attempting  some- 
what of  a  unity  of  time  as  well  as  aiming  directly  at  a  unity 
of  action.  But  Shakespeare  is  no  less  the  popular  play- 
wright because  he  is  aiming,  at  niceties  of  structure.  There 
is  a  deal  of  lively  stage  business  thrown  in  to  make  the  long 
speeches  acceptable;  for  there  are  long  speeches,  we  must 
admit.  The  play  opens  with  a  night-scene,  again,  as  "Ham- 
let'* opens.  The  pitch  here,  of  course,  is  sensibly  higher, 
and  the  movement  and  tone  different.  Enter  Brabantio  in 
his  night-gown  is  more  like  Enter  Hieronimo  in  his  shirt. 
Kyd's  scene  Shakespeare  had  smiled  at  in  his  "Go  by, 
Jeronimy,  go  to  thy  cold  bed  and  warm  thee" ;  but  he  used 
it  here  very  appropriately  to  enliven  the  slow  process  of 
imparting  information  about  the  past.  Brabantio  recalls 
Old  Capulet  in  his  personality  and  Shylock  in  his  situation, 
at  least,  so  far  as  the  loss  of  a  daughter.  It  may  be  only 
lago's  words,  however,  that  recall  Shylock  to  us: 

"Awake!  What,  ho!  Brabantio!  thieves!  thieves!  thieves! 
Look  to  your  house,  your  daughter,  and  your  bags !" 

So  in  the  meeting  of  the  Senate,  the  running  in  and  out 
of  the  messengers  enlivens  the  scene.  The  spectator  must 
be  got  ready  for  the  Cyprus  situation  and  must  hear  in  the 
meantime  Othello's  long  account  of  the  courtship.     lago 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  177 

comes  in  also  with  Desdemona  and,  after  matters  are  set- 
tled, receives  the  sacred  charge  of  bringing  her  to  her  lord 
at  Cyprus.  In  the  commission  he  is  called  "Honest  lago" — 
a  fine  bit  of  irony  well  understood  after  his  previous 
speeches.  At  the  end  of  the  act  he  makes  announcement  of 
his  future  course— "to  abuse  Othello's  ear."  With  the 
landing  at  Cyprus  begins  the  steady  unbroken  rise  to  the 
end  of  the  play. 

The  exposition  has  served  as  an  exposition  to  bring  out 
in  characteristic  speech  and  action  all  the  important  person- 
ages. Even  the  subplot  is  well  under  way  at  the  opening 
of  Act  II — if  we  may  speak  of  Roderigo's  part  as  a  sub- 
plot. In  a  drama  where  such  a  character  is  used  so  nicely 
in  the  action  later  he  should  be  called  an  auxiliary,  per- 
haps, rather  than  part  of  a  subplot.  lago  is  a  pernicious 
intellect  that  means  to  do  nothing  himself  but  only  like  a 
thought  to  set  others  to  doing,  needs  some  such  lumpish  clay 
to  inhabit  also  and  set  in  motion  for  variety  of  plot.  Othello 
and  Roderigo  are  both  gulls  to  lago's  intellect,  but  they  are 
very  different.  The  chief  use  of  Roderigo  is  to  show  forth 
lago's  nature  before  it  enters  into  control  of  Othello's  mind. 
It  must  seem  to  be  very  honest  or  it  can  not  gain  admit- 
tance there,  yet  the  audience  must  know  its  diabolical  possi- 
bilities beforehand  or  there  will  be  no  tragic  suspense.  How 
admirably  Shakespeare  has  succeeded  with  his  exposition  is 
shown  by  the  unmistakable  rise  of  the  succeeding  action. 

This  point  of  structure  is  discussed  at  this  place  and  not 
earlier  because  I  can  not  be  sure  that  before  the  writing  of 
"Othello"  any  dramatist  felt  the  introduction,  or  exposition, 
as  a  peculiar  problem.     We  know  that  the  early  popular 


178  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

dramatists  just  "began"  with  the  story.  Their  idea  was  to 
set  up  a  narrative  in  presentable  scenes,  and  only  gradually 
did  they  arrive  at  a  consciousness  of  the  structural  function 
of  the  various  parts  of  the  action.  "The  Spanish  Tragedy," 
we  have  seen,  introduces  one  play,  and  gives  us  finally  an- 
other. "Tamburlaine"  runs  along  in  epic  structure.  The 
beginning  is  good  in  the  sense  that  the  audience  immediately 
feels  the  power  of  the  protagonist,  but  there  is  no  introduc- 
tion to  a  whole  complete  dramatic  action,  and  the  speeches 
are  long  and  oratorical.  Tamburlaine's  second  speech  is 
twelve  lines  long,  his  third  eighteen,  and  his  fifth  twenty- 
four.  The  opening  situation  in  "Faustus"  is  striking,  but 
the  speech  is  a  soliloquy  of  sixty-two  lines.  The  hero's  third 
speech  is  forty  lines.  This  kind  of  beginning  is  not  our  ideal 
today.  Barabas  opens  his  tragedy  with  a  speech  of  forty- 
eight  lines,  and  follows  it  soon  after  with  one  of  thirty- 
eight.  "Edward  the  Second"  has  the  best  beginning  in  so 
far  as  exposition  of  conditions  pertains,  but  the  whole  play 
is  hardly  to  be  Gaveston's  play.  He  dies  before  the  middle. 
Yet  he  delivers  character-speeches  of  himself  and  Edward 
of  forty-eight  lines  (divided  into  two  speeches)  within  the 
first  three  or  four  minutes  of  the  action.  "Edward  the 
Second"  is  a  marked  improvement  over  its  predecessors  in 
the  matter  of  the  movement  of  the  dialogue.  There  are 
here  and  there  brisk  nervous  speeches  that  are  not  far  in 
quality  from  some  of  Shakespeare's  middle  work;  but  the 
first  speech,  on  the  contrary,  at  least  in  regard  to  length,  is 
not  indicative  of  a  new  order. 

Richard  III  naively  steps  out  and  proclaims  his  identity 
like  Beelzebub  or  the  tardy  clown  in  the  old  mummers'  play; 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  179 

"Here  comes  I,  old  Beelzebub,"  or  "Here  comes  I  who's 
never  been  yet,"  and  his  speech  like  theirs  is  a  recitation. 

The  ''Richard  H"  tragedy  opens  with  the  quarrel  and 
challenge  of  Bolingbroke  and  Mowbray.  This  is  in  a  way 
a  prefiguring  of  the  coming  action  and  somewhat  of  a 
character-sketch  of  Bolingbroke,  but  we  are  not  further 
interested  in  Mowbray  and  the  speeches  are  long  and  tire- 
some. 

In  "King  John"  the  character  of  Faulconbridge  is 
brought  out  pronouncedly  in  the  first  scene  and  the  dis- 
cussion, which  is  the  means,  was  no  doubt  interesting  to 
Elizabethan  ears,  but  it  falls  on  ours  as  long  and  very 
unpleasant.  I  am  aware  that  critics  think  Faulconbridge 
the  best  part  of  the  play  and  his  intensification  particularly 
Shakespeare's  addition  to  the  original.  And  assuredly  there 
is  a  verve  and  activity  about  him,  a  bluntness,  honesty,  and 
loyalty  that  is  refreshing  when  one  thinks  of  the  character- 
less characters  of  the  old  plays;  nevertheless,  the  intricate 
punning,  the  long  speeches,  and  the  unpleasant  subject  prove 
our  present  criticism  just  concerning  the  introduction. 

"Romeo  and  Juliet"  begins  most  spiritedly  with  the 
making  of  faces,  biting  of  thumbs,  clashing  of  swords, 
clanging  of  bucklers,  and  shouts  of  "Down  with  the  Capu- 
lets!"  "Down  with  the  Montagues!"  But  we  must,  not- 
withstanding, listen  patiently  to  Benvolio's  and  the  fond 
old  parent's  lengthy  and  intricate,  though  poetic,  descrip- 
tions of  Romeo.  In  justice,  however,  it  must  be  admitted 
that  together  the  three  speeches  make  only  thirty-five  lines, 
and  this  fact  is  a  remarkable  advance  on  the  past.  The 
first  division,  what  we  are  given  to  calling  the  keynote  scene 


180  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

of  the  play,  before  the  Prince  enters,  is  composed  of  eighty 
lines  and  almost  as  many  speeches.  We  might  name 
Shakespeare  a  new  artist  for  this  fact  alone,  as  I  have 
remarked  elsewhere;  but  we  have  imagined  his  writing  all 
the  first  two  and  a  half  acts  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  as  in- 
troduction to  the  last  half  of  his  drama,  or  as  a  spirited 
remaking,  of  an  ancient  English  imitation  of  Seneca.  How 
much  he  thought  of  the  events,  other  than  those  of  the 
keynote  scene,  as  exposition  and  not  forward-moving  story 
we  can  hardly  say.  This  is  a  commendatory  criticism  on 
his  success,  but  it  acknowledges  how  very  limited  our 
proofs  are  of  Shakespeare's  conscious  processes.  We  do 
not  know  that  he  meant  more  there  than  to  present  dra- 
matically Brooke's  poem  condensed. 

But  I  am  reminded  that  Shakespeare  has  a  fine  introduc- 
tion to  "Hamlet."  Yes;  in  a  way,  nothing  could  be  bet- 
ter. But  I  am  not  sure  that  its  excellence  did  not  come 
chiefly  from  a  desire  to  improve  the  Senecan  ghost  element 
that  was  already  a  conventional  beginning.  The  triumph 
of  the  ghost  was  complete  in  the  fact  of  banishing  the  unde- 
sirable and  the  loathsome,  and  in  securing  for  the  most  part 
only  the  dignified  and  the  awe-inspiring  qualities  of  such 
visitants.  Still  there  is  not  a  little  amount  of  old-fashioned 
business  left;  for  instance,  the  swearing  on  the  sword- 
hilt  and  the  "mole"  in  the  ground.  Likewise,  there  is  the 
usual  fault  of  Elizabethan  beginnings — long  narration.    No 

V  Elizabethan  author  conquered  the  exposition  through  and 
through  dramatically ;  and  certainly  Shakespeare  did  not  in 

ij  "Hamlet,"  but  he  advanced  markedly  on  his  predecessors. 
Shakespeare  has  marvelous  keynote  scenes ;  yet  his  succeed- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  181 

ing  expositions  are,  like  those  of  all  the  dramas  of  his  day, 
more  or  less  weighted  with  narration. 

The  first  act  of  the  "Othello"  tragedy  is  of  Shakespeare's 
contriving.  In  the  narrative,  Disdemona  and  the  Moor  have 
long  been  married  and  living  at  Venice  before  the  call  to 
Cyprus,  and  Roderigo  is  unknown.  Moreover,  as  we  have 
said  elsewhere,  the  catastrophe  is  entirely  different.  In 
Cinthio's  story  the  Moor  (unnamed)  is  a  good  deal  of  a 
coward.  He  not  only  slinks  from  justice  finally,  but  lies 
in  bed  while  the  Ensign,  in  his  presence  and  according  to  a 
plan  between  them,  beats  Disdemona  to  death  with  a-  stock- 
ing filled  with  sand,  and  pulls  a  rafter  down  on  her  to  prove 
an  accident.  The  Moor  in  the  story  is  therefore  a  brute, 
and  the  Ensign  (also  unnamed)  is  a  common  ruffian.  But 
in  Shakespeare's  exposition  lago  is  unmistakably  brought 
out  as  an  intellect  and  a  controlling  force,  and  Othello  as  a 
high-minded  generous  character.  The  exposition  does  what 
it  should  do — introduces  the  characters  so  that  what  follows 
is  perfectly  clear  and  consonant.  We  do  not  expect  the 
action  of  a  ruffian  nor  the  shameful  subterfuges  of  a  cow- 
ard. We  expect  tragedy.  As  we  have  said,  the  exposition 
here  is  the  chief  subsidiary  help  to  unity.  It  not  only  pre- 
sents the  main  characters  in  illuminative  speech  and  action, 
but  gives  us  a  sense  of  all  their  past  and  a  keen  interest  in 
their  future.  Their  future  must  grow  out  of  their  past,  we 
feel,  but  we  perceive  that  it  is  not  to  grow  smoothly.  The 
disturbing  presence  of  lago  is  unmistakably  felt.  When 
Brabantio  says: 

"Look  to  her.  Moor,  if  thou  hast  eyes  to  see: 
She  has  deceived  her  father,  and  may  thee," 

we  know  that  Desdemona  will  not  deceive  the  Moor  with 


182  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

any  deliberate  purpose,  but  what  she  may  inadvertently  do 
or  what  lago  may  make  of  her  actions,  we  can  not  say.  But 
we  are  ready  to  watch.  And  when  we  get  lago's  full  an- 
nouncement we  are  keen.  We  know  what  he  is  going  to 
do,  but  not  what  Othello  and  Desdemona  will  do.  The 
state  of  mind  of  the  audience  is  exactly  right.  All  the 
main  happenings  are  outlined  already  beforehand  so  that 
the  spectator  may  watch  not  the  course  of  material  events 
but  the  course  of  mental  events. 

Shakespeare  did  not  escape  here,  either,  entirely  the  faults 
of  his  predecessors.  He  manages  to  introduce  his  retro- 
spective narrative  and  his  character  descriptions  logically; 
but  they  are  long;  and,  for  this  reason,  despite  its  sprightly 
stage  business,  the  exposition  drags  somewhat.  It  was  left 
for  the  nineteenth  century  wholly  to  conquer  the  exposition. 
Ibsen  has  his  retrospective  narrative  so  insinuated  into  the 
conversation  of  his  characters  that  listeners  never  suspect 
they  are  being  informed.  In  this  excellence  "Ghosts"  can 
never  be  surpassed.  But  its  superiority  results  from  the 
ideals  of  realism  paramount  in  our  age.  When  we  find 
fault  with  Shakespeare  accordingly,  we  find  fault  with  his 
age.  How  much  he  surpassed  his  predecessors  and  his 
former  self  is  made  plain  by  the  advance  of  ''Othello"  over 
all  antecedent  drama  in  the  possession  of  unity. 


Chapter  IX 
Unity,  the  Return  Action,  and  the  Underplot 

With  the  choice  of  ''Hamlet"  Shakespeare  began  to  select 
for  his  tragedies  material  that  contained  in  itself  some  help 
toward  unity.  The  Amleth  history  even  in  Saxo  begins 
after  the  good  king's  death.  The  Othello  narrative  begins 
with  almost  the  bare  statement  that  the  marriage  had  been*' 
long  consummated.  We  have  realized,  however,  that  the 
dramatist  could  have  enlarged  either  way ;  but  that  he  chose 
rather  to  elucidate  and  concentrate.  What  story  he  told, 
he  told  in  retrospect.  Moreover,  he  advisedly  ends  his 
tragedy  each  time  with  death — with  Hamlet's  death,  con- 
trary to  the  story;  with  Othello's  death,  contrary  to  the 
story ;  with  Cordelia's  and  Lear's,  contrary  to  both  the  ante- 
cedent story  and  play.  It  is  evident  that  Shakespeare  was 
seeking  unity  and  finality.  What  shall  we  say,  then,  of  the 
very  complex  action  of  "Lear"? 

The  Goneril-Regan-and-Edmund  part,  together  with  the 
subplot  of  Edgar  and  Gloucester,  is  Shakespeare's  inven- 
tion. W^hat  could  he  have  meant  by  all  these  additions? 
As  Professor  Thorndike  seems  to  suggest,^  perhaps  Shake- 
speare chose  to  involve  himself  in  this  intricate  structure. 
It  is  obvious  that  he  proves  himself  master.  He  has  given 
us  the  greatest  simplicity  in  "Othello,"  the  greatest  com- 
plexity in  "Lear." 

1  "Tragedy,"  p.   i68. 

183 


184  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

It  often  happens  that  when  an  artist  has  attained  a  technic, 
he  lets  it  show  through  his  work.  Shakespeare  cannot  hold 
himself  free  from  his  fault  here,  but  no  one  can  say  that  he 
has  not  triumphed.  Given  the  problem  he  set  for  himself, 
who  could  have  done  better?  "Lear"  is  a  combination  of 
Senecan  and  Elizabethan  structures  so  tremendous  and 
penetratingly  tragic  that  the  ordinary  person  cannot  bear 
it;  that  is,  one  who  has  not  been  brought  up  to  take  his 
emotions  mixed  and  strong.  Few  readers  have  been  able  to 
endure  the  underplot,  but  it  is  but  the  acme  of  Elizabethan 
popular  tragedy.  The  plucking  out  of  eyes  had  been  added 
as  part  of  the  catastrophe  of  "Tancred  and  Gismunda"  in 
the  edition  of  1591.  Shakespeare  uses  the  event  in  "Lear" 
as  crisis  for  the  evil  schemers,  those  who  did  not  at  first 
intend  more  than  coldness  and  neglect  toward  an  impatient 
provoking  old  king;  but  wickedness  grows  on  itself,  and 
these  unlovely  creatures,  Goneril  and  Regan,  attain  almost 
to  the  frightful  visages  of  the  secret,  black,  and  midnight 
hags  that  we  meet  in  the  next  tragedy.  That  Lear's  evil 
daughters  should  fall  to  division  and  death  is  the  reaction 
we  demand.  We  could  not  accept  the  play  without  it. 
Shakespeare  shows  that  he  knew  the  human  mind  thoroughly 
even  in  his  most  elaborate  appeal  to  it.  As  spectators  w^e 
moderns  do  not  like  the  underplot.  It  is  present,  philo- 
sophically and  structurally  serviceable;  but  before  the  com- 
pletion of  it  we  put  our  hands  over  our  eyes  and  our  fingers 
in  our  ears  and  turn  our  backs  on  the  messenger  who  con- 
firms the  villainies  we  have  all  along  suspected.  Yet  we 
know  as  critics  and  psychologists  that  the  overplot  would 
not  affect  us  as  it  does  without  this  proof  that  actual  coarse 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  185 

deeds  of  hand  are  only  disgusting,  not  terrific,  and  are  really 
negligible.  The  pitiful  and  awful  thing  is  the  breaking  of  the 
human  heart.  We  watch  that  with  an  intensity  that  notices 
not  the  means  that  make  it  plain.  It  is  remarkable  that, 
despite  the  seeming  intricacy  of  this  great  tragedy,  the  final 
effect  in  one's  memory  is  that  of  an  action  baldly  simple. 
Let  us  inquire  how  this  effect  is  brought  about. 

It  is  brought  about  by  the  restricting  of  the  main  action 
to  Senecan  structure.  If  the  "Othello"  tragedy  makes  us 
feel  that  we  are  watching  a  rising  action,  the  coming  into 
expression  of  all  the  terrible  possibilities  of  a  passionate 
nature,  surely  ''Lear"  in  contrast  imparts  a  powerful  sense 
of  a  falling  action,  the  plunging  into  extinction  of  a  passion- 
ate nature  through  a  rash  deed  that  gradually  transforms 
itself  into  a  futile  thought  impotent  against  consequences. 
The  impression  of  the  structure  is  as  if  Shakespeare  had 
advisedly  taken,  this  time,  the  other  half  of  the  "typical" 
Elizabethan  play  and  had  devoted  his  skill  to  it.  The  "Lear" 
tragedy  is  concerned  w^ith  the  last  days  of  "a  very  foolish 
fond  old  man,  four-score  and  upwards."  Though  there  is 
much  complication,  there  is  really  no  confusion  and  no  con- 
tradiction. The  tragic  action  moves  forward  logically  and 
regularly.  From  the  moment  of  the  dividing  of  his  king- 
dom Lear  falls  straight  to  his  doom — rejection  and  insanity. 
The  whole  play  is  but  the  reaction  on  him  of  his  own  deed. 
If  there  be  any  general  crisis  to  the  main  plot,  it  occurs  in 
the  first  scene  of  the  first  act — an  earnest  of  Senecan  form. 
The  only  dift'erence  is  that  in  Shakespeare's  play  the  events 
are  briefly  acted  out,  not  merely  narrated  as  in  Seneca. 
This  difference  is  important  to  vividness  but  not  to  structure. 


186  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

The  "Lear"  catastrophe  begins  at  Act  III,  and,  partly 
reported  and  partly  enacted,  runs  through  the  rest  of  the 
play.  To  have  Lear  awake  from  his  madness  and  realize 
that  he  may  be  mad  again  is  but  to  intensify  the  catastrophe. 
The  episode  where  Cordelia  attempts  to  save  him  is  but  an 
episode,  necessary  to  the  mind  tragedy,  but  unafTecting  the 
course  of  events ;  Lear's  doom  was  struck  long  before  and 
quickly  follows  after. 

The  main  action  of  the  tragedy,  we  say,  is  Senecan,  in 
that  Lear,  despite  opposition,  goes  on  to  the  completion  of 
his  purpose.  He  is  set  on  finding  out  who  loves  him  best — 
as  QEdipus  to  find  out  who  killed  Laius.  He  is  warned  by 
all  coincidents,  as  was  CEdipus,  not  to  pursue  the  inquiry. 
He  is,  indeed,  not  only  told  that  he  is  rushing  to  destruction, 
but  he  knows  that  he  is :  he  senses  his  destiny.  Impelled  by 
the  fate  of  his  disposition  (Shakespeare's  gods),  he  flings 
himself  out  of  doors,  determined  to  know  no  kind  of  filial 
regard  but  what  he  has  preconceived.  His  passionate  nature 
craves  expression  toward  the  thing  he  loves  and  from  it. 
Baffled,  his  soul  recoils  upon  itself,  and,  (Edipus-like,  tears 
out  its  eyes:  he  yields  his  wits  to  his  perversity.  And  this 
is  in  a  large  part  his  tragedy:  to  know  in  the  beginning 
Cordelia's  love,  but  insisting  to  parade  in  it,  "wot  ye,  to 
worst  e'en  the  giver."  But,  as  I  said,  we  must  not  confuse 
spiritual  action  with  technical.  It  is  a  matter  of  Shake- 
speare's development  at  this  time  that  he  so  interwove  the 
two  in  this  drama  that,  though  we  can  readily  think  them 
apart,  we  can  scarcely  tell  them  oflF.  We  agree  in  this 
technical  study  that  the  overplot  is  Senecan,  or  "Greek"; 
that  Lear  goes  on  to  the  completion  of  his  purpose,  a  com- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  187 

pletion  that  brings  catastrophe  and  includes  the  death  of 
himself,  of  his  tormentors,  and  of  Cordelia.  The  fact  that 
the  catastrophe  includes  the  death  of  all  the  principals  is  an 
Elizabethan  convention. 

Since  the  overplot  is  a  simple  reaction,  a  straight  down- 
ward fall  from  activity  and  a  deed,  to  inactivity  and  a 
thought,  Lear  is  the  chief  struggjer,  is  the  protagonist  of 
this  drama.  Anyone  who  talks  otherwise  has  not  followed 
the  question  through  carefully,  or  has  another  definition  for 
protagonist  besides  that  of  the  chief  struggler,  or  causer  of 
the  action.  Whoever  calls  Goneril,  Regan,  and  Edmund  the 
protagonist  is  thinking  of  activities  and  not  of  the  action 
of  a  tragedy.  This  is  Lear's  tragedy.  He  causes  it ;  others 
suflfer  with  him ;  others  also  act  after  him  and  in  his  fashion 
and  in  accompaniment  with  him,  but  they  could  not  have 
acted  exactly  thus  and  with  this  result  had  he  not  acted 
first.  He  is  the  first  cause — physiologically,  spiritually, 
ethically,  and  dramatically.  The  three  daughters  are  his 
daughters.  Goneril  and  Regan  are  as  much  like  him  as  is 
Cordelia.  Moreover,  where  Cordelia  is  most  exasperating 
and  stubborn,  she  is  most  like  her  father.  Her  response  to 
him  is  characteristic  not  only  of  herself  but  of  him — she  is 
her  father's  child,  and  her  response  dramatically  is  caused 
by  him. 

Goneril,  Regan,  and  Edmund  together  are  not  the  pro- 
tagonist, nor  is  any  one  of  them  chief  in  relation  to  Lear. 
They  work  with  Lear  and  in  the  direction  he  took  are  sub- 
ordinate. They  v/ork  with  him  somewhat  as  lago  with 
Othello,  but  not  to  the  effect  of  converting  a  thought  into  a 
deed,  but  rather  to  the  effect  of  converting  a  deed  into  a 


188  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

thought.  Hence  the  difference  in  the  trend  of  the  two  plays. 
In  the  beginning  of  his  play  Lear  in  act  divides  his  king- 
dom and  dethrones  himself,  but  he  does  not  in  thought  do  so. 
He  still  thinks  of  himself  as  king,  and,  partly  and  essentially, 
deports  himself  as  if  he  were.  But  the  tragedy  of  the  situ- 
ation is  that  the  deed  finally  reacts  on  him  to  the  effect  of 
making  him  think  his  situation  as  well  as  act  it.  The  com- 
bined thinking  and  acting  result  in  the  cracking  of  his  wits. 
This  tragedy  is  a  tragedy  of  realization.  Lear  the  proud, 
impatient,  insistent,  arrogant,  the  unloving,  rash,  untamed, 
imperious  monarch  comes  to  know  himself  as  an  "unaccom- 
modated man — no  more  but  a  poor,  bare,  forked  animal. 
If  Goneril,  Regan,  and  Edmund  are  not  the  protagonist, 
and  do  not  inaugurate  the  action  of  the  tragedy,  what  are 
they,  and  what  is  their  function?  They  are  surely  not  the 
inciting  or  instigating  force  of  Lear's  action  in  the  same 
way  as  lago  is  of  Othello's.  They  do  not  deliberately  set 
themselves  to  work  on  his  mind.  Their  first  action  is  a  reflex 
action,  as  Goneril's  speech  at  the  end  of  Scene  i  testifies. 
Even  at  the  crisis-emphasis  it  is  Lear  who  starts  the  events : 
he  insists  on  staying  out  in  the  storm.  His  impetuous  action 
is  a  surprise  to  his  tormentors:  and  in  their  cruelty  to  him 
they  but  actively  follow  his  lead  of  neglect  and  cruelty  to 
himself.    Unfilial,  they  offer  as  their  excuse : 

"  'Tis  best  to  give  him  way ;  he  leads  himself 

•  •••••• 

O  sir,  to  wilful  men 
The  injuries  that  they  themselves  procure 
Must  be  their  schoolmasters.    Shut  up  your  doors : 
He  is  attended  with  a  desperate  train 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  189 

And  what  they  may  incense  him  to,  being  apt 
To  have  his  ear  abused,  wisdom  bids  fear." 

The  latter  part  of  this  speech  is,  of  course,  hypocrisy ;  but 
the  earHer  part  is  exactly  the  kind  of  excuse  cruel  people 
hug  to  themselves,  and  is  in  its  psychology  intensely  true; 
hence  the  tragedy.  The  Fool  makes  all  this  relationship  very 
plain  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his  part.  What  an 
interesting  modification  he  is  of  the  convention  of  a  chorus ! 
Goneril,  Regan,  and  Edmund  are  filial  ingratitude  active — 
not  actuating,  however.  From  the  beginning  of  the  tragedy 
Lear  is  preoccupied  with  the  idea  of  filial  ingratitude;  they 
are  that  idea  personified.  But  they  are  not  the  actuating 
cause  of  Lear's  destruction.  That  cause  is  his  own  passion- 
ate pride  and  caprice.  In  the  pity  the  dramatist  arouses 
in  us  for  this  tragic  character  we  must  not  fail  to  see  that 
it  is  truly  a  tragic  character,  and  not  a  mere  sentimental  one 
of  melodrama.  The  terrific  outline  of  Lear's  disposition 
that  Goneril  and  Regan  give  is  to  be  observed.  They  are 
shrewd  and  cunning  analyzers.  Their  intellects  are  not  at 
fault  if  their  hearts  are. 

Gon. — You  see  how  full  of  changes  his  age  is ;  the 
observation  we  have  made  of  it  hath  not  been  little ;  he 
always  loved  our  sister  most;  and  with  what  poor  judg- 
ment he  hath  now  cast  her  off  appears  too  grossly. 

Reg. — 'Tis  the  infirmity  of  his  age:  yet  he  hath  ever  but 
slenderly  known  himself. 

Gon. — The  best  and  soundest  of  his  time  hath  been  but 
rash ;  then  must  we  look  to  receive  from  his  age,  not 
alone  the  imperfections  of  long  ingrafted  condition,  but 
therewithal  the  unruly  waywardness  that  infirm  and 
choleric  years  bring  with  them.   (Act.  I,  sc.  i,  291-303.) 


190  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Since  Goneril,  Regan,  and  Edmund  are  neither  the  pro- 
tagonist of  the  action  nor  the  inciting  motive,  are  they  the 
antagonist?  No  more  than  they  are  the  protagonist;  that  is, 
neither  singly  nor  collectively  are  they  in  the  fundamental 
outline  of  the  action  the  antagonist  of  Lear.  They  are  rather 
the  antagonists  of  Cordelia,  or  she  of  them.  This  fact  is 
shown  not  only  by  the  course  of  the  play  but  by  Goneril's 
words  at  the  end  of  Scene  i.  That  they  win  physically  and 
bring  Cordelia  to  death  might  be  interpreted  to  mean  that 
they  are  the  chief  strugglers  in  relation  to  her.  Indeed, 
they  are  physically,  in  so  far  as  the  activities  of  the  drama 
go ;  they  are  the  ones  who  actively  engage  against  her.  This 
is  what  they  may  be  considered  then;  the  emphasized  (struc- 
tural) promoters  of  the  activities  within  the  action.  In  rela- 
tion to  Lear  they  are  zealous  agents  going  far  beyond  his 
initiative.  They  take  more  of  the  sovereignty  than  he  dele- 
gated, and  press  home  to  him  the  import  of  his  own  acts  by 
carrying  them  out  to  the  bitter  end.  What  he  suggests  and 
starts,  they  execute  without  mercy  or  remission,  both 
towards  him  and  towards  Cordelia. 

Cordelia  is  surely  the  antagonist  against  her  father's  wil- 
fulness— she  and  Kent  are.  There  is  no  mistake  about  the 
relationship  of  the  parties  at  the  luminous  beginning  of  the 
play.  She  and  Kent  openly  set  themselves  against  the  king's 
action  and  against  those  whom  he  has  made  to  be  of  his 
party.  Throughout  the  subsequent  activities  Kent  represents 
the  opposition.  Kent  and  Cordelia  win  at  last  so  far  as  to 
see  the  king  abandon  his  passion  and  imprecations  and  in 
humility  acknowledge  his  mistake.  But  what  they  wished 
to  do  they  could  not  do;  namely,  save  the  venerable  king 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  191 

from  the  tragedy  of  his  own  disposition.  He  pulls  that 
down  upon  himself  unchecked  save  for  their  slight  success 
with  him  by  the  way  of  a  restorative  after  his  madness. 
This  success  is  scarcely  better  materially  than  a  failure,  since 
he  so  soon  loses  what  he  sought  and  with  it  his  own  mind 
and  life.  The  scene  is  but  the  arrest  of  the  catastrophe. 
Cordelia's  part  is,  therefore,  much  like  that  of  the  antag- 
onists in  the  Senecan  drama.  They  suffer  the  tyranny  of  the 
protagonists  and  go  down  in  the  action  that  the  protagonists 
have  planned. 

Cordelia's  represented  opposition  after  the  first  act,  how- 
ever, is  not  against  her  father,  but  against  those  who  by  an 
unnatural  assumption  of  the  relationship  established  by  him 
have  become  his  tormentors  as  well  as  her  enemies.    She  is 
anxious  to  secure  and  save  her  father.     She  contends  for 
possession  of  him  against  her  sisters  and  Edmund;  that  is, 
she  sets  herself  parallel  with  him  against  them,  as  they  had 
set  themselves  parallel  with  him  against  her.     She  becomes 
the  opponent  of  Lear's  representatives  as  well  as  of  his 
first  foolishness.    No  change  has  taken  place  in  her  relation 
to  them,  however,  except  that  of  active  warfare.    From  the 
beginning  she  has  been  tacitly  against  them.  Goneril,  Regan, 
Edmund,  and  Albany  are  representatives  of  Lear  even  at  the 
end  of  the  action  both  by  fact  and  by  assertion ;  for  they  are 
"opposites"  to  all  invaders  of  the  British  kingdom,  his  king- 
dom.   Moreover,  they  win  in  the  conflict.    There  is  accord- 
ingly no  change  in  the  political  relationship  of  the  parties 
from  the  beginning  to  the  close  of  the  drama.    There  is  no 
permanent  change  except  the  change  in  Lear's  mind  toward 
himself  and  his  daughters.     The  structural  restraint  of  the 


192  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

action  makes  this  drama,  as  I  said,  a  tragedy  of  realization. 
Lear's  change  toward  Cordelia  is  made  known  not  in  the 
form  of  a  dramatic  crisis,  but  only  in  the  form  of  an  arrest 
of  the  catastrophe,  a  subordinate  scene. 

The  arrest  of  the  catastrophe  is  repeated  m  the  place 
where  the  overplot  and  the  underplot  come  together ;  that 
is,  where  Albany  demands  Lear  and  Cordelia,  and  Edmund 
finally  repents  and  sends  for  them.  This  small  incident, 
however,  is  only  an  after  echo  of  the  larger  and  more  beau- 
tiful scene  where  we  hope  for  Lear's  complete  restoration. 
Shakespeare's  reduction  of  the  turning  point  of  the  old 
melodrama  to  a  mere  arrest  of  the  catastrophe  is  a  fine  dem- 
onstration of  his  command  over  his  material.  The  Lear- 
Cordelia  tragedy  as  Shakespeare  presents  it  is  a  Greek- 
Senecan  action  with  a  continued  downward  fall  from  the 
beginning. 

Technically  Cordelia  is  the  antagonist  of  the  action,  and 
technically  Goneril,  Regan,  and  Edmund  are  parallel  pro- 
moters of  the  action  along  with  Lear ;  but  fundamentally 
Lear  is  not  only  the  real  protagonist  but  also  the  real  antag- 
onist. He  is  his  own  worst  enemy,  and  the  battle  ground 
of  the  drama  is  his  nature.  Philosophically,  it  looks  as  if 
Shakespeare  were  coming  at  the  time  of  the  composition 
of  "Lear"  to  the  realization  that  the  most  tragic  fact  in  the 
world  is  that  of  a  disposition  divided  against  itself.  He  had 
very  evidently  come  at  any  rate  to  the  conclusion  that  a 
good  return  action  must  be  the  return  of  the  doer's  own 
deed  upon  the  doer's  own  head  by  the  doer's  own  hand, 
as  it  were.  If  someone  else  "return"  the  deed,  then  the 
story  is  not  done ;  for  there  is  yet  that  person's  tragedy  to  be 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  193 

worked  out  and  the  reaction  of  his  deed  to  be  set  forth. 
If  the  antagonist  becomes  important,  he  becomes  really  a 
protagonist  of  a  new  play,  and  the  former  leader  is  put  on 
the  defensive,  and  the  unity  of  efifect  is  broken.  This  trans- 
fer of  dominance  occurs  in  "Julius  Caesar"  and  in  "Hamlet" 
very  largely ;  but  it  does  not  occur  in  "Othello"  or  in  "Lear" 
—not  in  "Othello"  because  of  the  peculiar  condition  we  have 
analyzed.  lago  is  more  of  an  evil  idea  than  a  man,  and 
Desdemona  is  too  weak  and  loving  to  be  an  antagonist. 
The  representation  in  "Othello"  is  of  the  insinuation  of  an 
evil  idea  and  the  growth  of  it  into  an  evil  deed.  The  reaction 
of  that  deed,  if  not  a  foregone  conclusion  with  us,  is  so 
swift  and  satisfying  that  we  hardly  realize  that  it  is  a  re- 
action, but  think  it  part  of  the  catastrophe. 

But  the  reaction  in  "Lear"  is  a  matter  of  the  whole  play ; 
that  fact  brings  unity.     A  change  of  dominance  does  not 
occur.    That  Shakespeare  worked  especially  against  such  a 
result  is  shown  by  the  evidence  that  he  modified  the  accepted 
story  and  antecedent  play,  putting  what  would  rationally  be 
a  turning  point— the  meeting  with  Cordelia— very  late,  mak- 
ing Cordelia's  a  losing  part  throughout.    She  does  not  carry 
her  father  to  France  (as  the  story  has  her  do),  nor  does  she 
really  stop  the  falling  action  of  Lear's  tragedy  (as  the  old 
play  has  her  do).    Her  sweetness  and  love  in  Shakespeare's 
version  only  break  the  fall  and  make  the  end  less  unwel- 
come, make  it  truly  tragic  and  not  merely  horrible.     The 
forces  that  Lear  sets  in  motion  against  Cordelia  and  him- 
self win.    That  the  people  who  are  the  agent  of  these  forces 
destroy  themselves  also  is  a  matter  of  the  underplot.     The 
tragic  end  of  Lear  is  the  direct  result  of  the  beginning  of 


194  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

his  action.  Nothing  has  changed  the  course  of  events.  He 
has  fallen  straight  from  the  throne  to  his  death.  Had  he 
kept  the  throne,  none  of  the  evils  presented  would  have 
occurred.  It  is  noteworthy  for  a  clear  understanding  of  the 
mere  structure  of  the  play  that  Lear's  tormentors  do  not 
kill  his  body:  they  break  his  heart. 

The  underplot  of  this  tragedy  is  parallel  with  the  main 
action,  not  across  it.  So  far  as  Goneril  and  Regan  act  on 
Lear's  initiative,  they  are  part  of  the  main  tragedy;  so  far 
as  they  act  on  their  own  and  Edmund's  initiative,  they  are 
part  of  the  underplot.  The  Goneril-Regan-Edmund  love 
story  and  the  Gloucester-Edgar-Edmund  struggle  have  to- 
gether a  progress  independent  of  the  overtragedy.  Their 
course  exemplifies  what  is  sometimes  called  typical  Eliza- 
bethan structure;  that  is,  the  actors  rise  from  the  contem- 
plation of  wicked  deeds  to  the  execution  of  them  and  under- 
go the  reaction  that  brings  death ;  but  it  is  noteworthy  that 
even  here  Shakespeare  does  not  forget  his  lesson  of  "Julius 
Caesar"  and  ''Hamlet."  He  brings  in  no  new  avenger  where 
the  perpetrators  of  wickedness  are  connected  with  the  over- 
plot.  Goneril  and  Regan  destroy  themselves  and  each  other. 
It  is  "the  judgment  of  the  heavens"  (their  own  dispositions) 
that  destroys  them,  as  Albany  definitely  states.  It  is  only  the 
subpart  of  the  subplot  that  allows  a  human  avenger.  The 
enlivening  of  the  Senecan  action  therefore,  we  may  say, 
is  brought  about  through  an  Elizabethan  addition ;  but  an 
addition  not  like  that  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet,"  where  one 
action  is  prefixed  to  another,  involving  a  double  protagonist ; 
not  like  that  of  the  "Julius  Caesar,"  where  the  second  half 
is  affixed  to  the  first,  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  the  offender 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  195 

of  the  first  to  death ;  not  like  the  hesitator  motive  of  **Ham- 
let,"  involving  a  reaction  on  a  reaction ;  not  even  like  the 
vigorous  and  intellectual  transformation  within  the  action 
of  the  Senecan  relationship  of  the  confidant.  The  Greek 
simplicity  of  the  main  theme  of  the  "Lear"  tragedy  is  offered 
in  all  its  simplicity ;  but  dramatic  emphasis  is  employed  to 
throw  the  simplicity  out  in  bold  relief,  as  it  were,  on  a  back- 
ground of  non-simplicity. 

Shakespeare,  the  practical  writer  of  plays,  knew  his  audi- 
ence too  well  to  leave  to  it  a  chance  appreciation  of  the  great 
theme.  He  had  himself  risen  only  by  degrees  to  a  concep- 
tion of  what  is  truly  tragic  in  human  life ;  but  he  could  not 
wait  for  his  audience  to  arrive  gradually.  If  he  had  waited, 
his  play  would  have  failed.  It  was  necessary  that  he  bring 
the  audience  with  him  perforce.  Indeed,  it  has  taken  later 
ages  some  time  to  appreciate  the  depths  and  aw  fulness  of 
the  simple  "Lear"  action.  To  resign  power  when  one  is 
capable  of  wielding  it,  when  one  is  capable  of  being  "every 
inch  a  king" ;  to  indulge  in  personal  weaknesses  and  caprice, 
where  one  could  very  well  carry  the  burdens  of  state  and 
society,  and  thus  prevent  evil ;  to  ask  for  the  name  and  addi- 
tions of  a  king  without  the  responsibilities ;  to  demand  love 
and  get  hate  with  abuse  in  return ;  to  give  hate  and  abuse 
where  love  is  deserved ;  in  short,  to  wreck  one's  powers  on 
one's  disposition,  and  realize  the  fact — this  is  tragedy,  but 
it  is  not  the  kind  of  tragedy  that  the  mob  grasps  a  concep- 
tion of  easily.  For  the  unthinking  there  is  needed  heavy 
emphasis,  and  plays  are  not  written  for  the  closet ;  at  least, 
Shakespeare's  plays  were  not.  "Lear"  is  great  tragedy 
and  no  defense  is  necessary,  even  of  its  Elizabethan  em- 


196  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

phasis ;  but  it  is  desirable  that  we  understand  the  function 
of  the  various  parts. 

The  entrance-of-the-exciting-force  became  in  the  "Othello" 
drama  a  large  and  beautiful  scene,  gradually  prepared  for. 
Because  of  its  elaborateness  and  the  rise  to  it,  it  seemingly 
took  the  earlier  place  of  the  crisis-deed,  which,  instead, 
came  far  along  toward  the  end  of  the  play.  The  extended 
introduction  necessary  to  make  this  scene  of  the  inciting 
force  intelligible  occasioned  the  somewhat  slow  progress  of 
the  first  part  of  the  ''Othello"  action.  There  is  not  this  first 
slow  progress  in  ''Lear."  The  introduction  prevents.  There 
is  in  one  sense  no  introduction.  We  are  thrust  immediately 
into  the  presence  of  tragedy.  The  crisis-deed  is  the  intro- 
duction. The  author  of  "Lear"  has  therefore  omitted  all  the 
so-called  first  half  of  the  so-called  typical  Elizabethan  action. 

Since  the  protagonist  has  taken  the  downward  course 
from  the  beginning  of  the  play,  and  has  at  the  beginning 
performed  the  crisis-deed,  we  cannot  in  the  Caesar-Brutus 
sense  talk  of  a  crisis  in  the  third  act  of  the  "Lear"  tragedy. 
The  middle  of  this  drama  is  a  crisis-emphasis,  therefore, 
simply  removed  the  length  of  an  act  from  the  crisis-deed. 

This  crisis-emphasis  is  an  artistic  thing,  an  art  product, 
that  does  not  belong,  to  the  original  story.  The  chronicles 
make  no  mention  of  Lear's  madness.  The  ballad  which 
relates  it  is  subsequent  to  the  drama  in  time  of  composition. 
The  center  of  the  "Lear"  tragedy,  so  far  as  is  known,  is 
wholly  Shakespeare's.  It  is  his  supreme  contribution  to 
dramatic  literature  in  connection  with  the  middle  of  a  play, 
as  the  close  of  the  "Antony  and  Cleopatra"  action  is  his 
supreme  ending.     We  have  agreed  that  the  "Lear"  middle 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  197 

scenes  arc  not  a  crisis  in  the  story  sense ;  that  turning  oc- 
curred when  Lear  divided  his  kingdom.  The  transformation 
m  the  third  act  is  psychic  and  personal.  The  course  of 
events  does  not  change,  but  only  the  mind  of  the  protago- 
nist. Though  Shakespeare  was  always  of  his  times,  he 
rises  here  to  a  conception  of  tragedy,  classical,  universal, 
eternal — that  of  mortals  at  strife  with  the  gods,  man  with 
his  disposition,  where  the  material  outcome  matters  little, 
but  the  struggle  is  the  tragedy.  This  is  the  future-looking 
fact  in  the  "Lear"  drama.  We  find  Shakespeare  following 
the  idea  closely  ever  afterwards.  He  more  and  more  neg- 
lects the  story,  and  gives  us  the  soul  struggle. 

Though  the  last  incident  of  the  "Lear"  action  is  an  Eliza- 
bethan stroke,  the  material  death  of  the  hero,  yet  Lear  dies 
with  a  knowledge  of  Cordelia's  love  and  of  his  own  mistake. 
We  said  that  dominance  does  not  change  sides  at  the  middle 
of  the  play,  and  that  Lear  continues  leader  in  the  real  sense ; 
but  it  is  the  broken  Lear  that  compels,  that  "draws  love  to  a 
display  of  itself."  The  consequences  of  his  wicked  folly 
move  on  from  ruin  to  ruin  without  any  change  of  action ; 
though  there  is  a  partial  change  of  heart  in  the  protagonist. 
Hitherto  he  has  been  imperious  and  selfish,  unlovable  with 
all  his  love ;  at  the  end,  as  he  says,  he  is  a  slave  of  the  gods, 
"A  poor,  infirm,  weak,  and  despised  old  man,"  but — and  here 
is  his  triumph  if  so  pitiful  a  figure  can  be  said  to  have  any 
triumph — we,  like  Cordelia,  would  at  last  gather  him  up  in 
our  arms. 

The  middle  of  this  play  is  a  group  of  the  most  elaborate 
central  scenes  in  dramatic  tragedy,  where  the  parallel  under- 


198  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

lying  of  the  subplot  throws  the  main  action  into  vivid  relief 
by  both  contrast  and  harmony:  we  see  the  proudest  and 
most  impatient  of  kings  brought  to  the  lowest  depths  of 
ignominy,  standing,  helpless  before  the  elements ;  we  see  him 
tearing  from  his  mind  all  old  ideas  and  beginning  to  realize 
the  one  tragic  thought;  we  hear  the  bitter  babbling  of  the 
fool,  the  mutterings  of  the  pretended  mad  man,  the  shrieks 
of  the  real  one,  and  here  and  there  the  word  of  the  friend, 
as  if  the  artist  were  purposely  sounding  the  sweet  tone  that 
is  to  come  out  in  final  predominance  over  the  harsh  clang 
of  the  catastrophe.  The  middle  of  this  play  is  a  Senecan 
middle,  in  that  there  is  for  Lear  no  reversal  of  fortune,  but 
the  first  horror  is  the  beginning  of  the  catastrophe.  The 
middle  of  this  play  is  an  Elizabethan  crisis-emphasis — Eliza- 
bethan in  the  change  of  the  course  of  the  action  of  the  under- 
plot, and  its  interweaving  with  the  main  story;  a  crisis- 
emphasis  in  the  review  and  reiteration  of  the  event  that 
caused  the  tragedy.  The  whole  action  is  neither  Senecan 
nor  Elizabethan  nor  both,  but  greater,  in  the  revelation  of  a 
mental  turmoil  wherein  is  accomplished  the  substitution 
of  one  idea  for  another  to  the  final  quiescence  of  the  tor- 
mented soul. 

Perhaps  *'Lear"  is  the  beginning  of  the  typical  Shake- 
spearean structure,  for  which  all  the  other  dramas  have  been 
a  preparation.  Or,  perhaps,  and  I  should  not  be  surprised  if 
this  were  the  truth,  there  is  no  typical  structural  point  of  any 
kind  in  Shakespeare's  work,  but  each  play  is  in  some  measure 
a  modification  of  the  one  just  preceding  and  an  advance  on 
the  others.    Surely  Act  III  of  "Lear"  is  the  most  remarkable 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  199 

achievement  ever  attained  in  the  middle  of  a  tragedy.  There 
is  unity  in  complexity.  The  unity  of  the  whole  drama  is 
secured  by  keeping  the  entire  main  action  a  return. 

In  "Lear"  Shakespeare  had  come  to  a  conception  of  trag- 
edy beyond  technic,  but  offered  an  example  that  demanded 
in  the  making  all  the  skill  an  Elizabethan  trained  and 
genius-endowed  artist  could  then  giye.  The  world  will 
never  cease  to  marvel  at  the  impression  this  action  makes  in 
its  complexity.  Critics  will  never  cease  to  analyze.  Classicists 
will  never  fail  to  find  fault  but  still  to  be  attracted.  Repeated 
readers  of  the  lines  will  not  escape  being  swept  off  their  feet 
now  and  again  and  carried  into  the  swirl  of  enthusiastic 
acclaimers  of  the  superiority  of  "Lear"  to  all  other  dramas, 
in  its  summary  of  classical  and  romantic  tragedy.  But  there 
was  in  store  for  Shakespeare  in  a  particular  way  a  further 
development  even  than  "Lear"  represents. 


Chapter  X 

The  Outer  and  Inner  Action,  Theatrical  Devices  and 

Special  Scenes 

The  presentation  of  a  philosophic  truth  by  means  of 
theatrical  devices  is  the  eminent  structural  fact  of  the 
"Macbeth"  drama.  From  the  point  of  view  of  the  stage 
"Macbeth"  is  the  swiftest  and  most  effective  of  Shakespeare's 
tragedies  and  for  one  unmistakable  reason — namely,  the 
clarity  of  its  three  actions — its  narrative  action,  its  psy- 
chological action,  and  its  moral  action. 

The  theme  of  the  narrative  action  is  an  historical  legend 
of  a  usurper  who  employs  assassination,  murder,  and  ex- 
treme tyranny;  the  theme  of  the  psychological  action  is  the 
incalculability  of  entertained  evil ;  the  theme  of  the  moral 
action  is  the  gradual  self-destruction  of  a  human  soul.  It 
would  sound  neat  to  say  that  the  narrative  action  proceeds 
by  retrospective  dialogue  and  directly  presented  events ;  the 
psychological,  by  asides,  monologues,  soliloquies,  and  spec- 
tacle ;  the  moral,  by  characterizations  and  expressed  maxims. 
But  obviously  this  statement  would  not  be  true  if  the  con- 
notation were  that  the  various  actions  occupied  separate 
scenes  which  could  be  set  out  over  against  each  other  dis- 
tinctly all  the  time.  Obviously  the  three  actions  of  the  three 
themes  proceed  for  the  most  part  together  in  the  same  situ- 
ations, or  practically  so.  A  striking  fact  about  this  drama 
is  its  extreme  brevity  in  comparison  with  the  rest  of  Shake- 

200 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  201 

speare's  plays.  The  evidence  is  clear  that  given  the  story 
and  the  psychic  and  moral  ideas  some  very  practical  hand 
set  about  offering  them  in  as  concise  and  brilliant  a  form  as 
possible.  There  are  two  places  where  matters  lag  a  little, 
but  the  general  stage  effect  is  one  of  stirring  dramatic 
business. 

The  amalgamation  of  the  outer  and  tlie  inner  action  by 
means  of  theatrical  devices  is  what  will  legitimately  interest 
us  in  this  study;  for  the  final  impression  of  this  play,  as 
well  as  of  that  of  "Othello"  and  of  "Lear,"  is  one  of  unity, 
despite  the  truth  -that  critics  so  tenaciously  assert  and  the 
ordinary  reader  so  quickly  observes  on  first  perusal ;  namely, 
that  the  division  which  our  modern  texts  mark  as  the  fourth 
act  is  weaker  than  the  others.  But  the  failure  in  "Mac- 
beth," if  we  call  this  weakness  a  failure,  is  one  not  of  con- 
ception as  that  of  "Julius  Caesar,"  nor  of  procedure,  as  that 
of  "Antony  and  Cleopatra,"  but  of  detail,  the  general  fault 
of  "Timon  of  Athens."  We  will  first  notice  the  procedure 
and  the  conception,  and  then  take  up  the  faulty  detail. 

The  procedure  is  largely  by  devices,  we  say.  There  is 
one  general  device,  of  which  most  of  the  others  are  special 
manifestations;  namely,  that  of  objectifying  psychological 
tendencies.  The  witches  represent  the  evil  thought  that 
takes  possession  of  Macbeth's  mind;  Lady  Macbeth  repre- 
sents Macbeth's  ambition  in  which  the  thought  lives;  the 
ghost  of  Banquo  represents  the  revolt  of  Macbeth's  own 
mind  against  itself ;  and  the  apparitions  shown  by  the  witches 
upon  Macbeth's  visit  to  them  represent  Macbeth's  secret 
conviction  of  future  failure  and  political  death.  It  should 
be  borne  in  mind  that  by  the  word  represent  we  do  not  mean 


202  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

anything  strictly  allegorical,  but  that  we  are  speaking  of 
dramatic  method — objectification.  The  advantage  of  such  a 
device  is  great.  Here,  where  it  is  skillfully  used,  it  gives  a 
concreteness  of  action  exceedingly  impressive.  Spectators 
are  forced  to  the  same  philosophical  attitude  as  the  dramatist. 
They  are  challenged  to  watch  the  progress  of  evil,  and,  led 
through  a  series  of  stage  events,  to  apprehend  a  series  of 
mind  and  soul  changes. 

The  opening  is  a  keynote  scene  wholly  spectacular  but  of 
much  power.  The  suggestion  is  far  out  of  proportion  to  the 
number  of  lines  that  create  it.  Whether  Shakespeare  wrote 
all  the  witch  parts  or  not  in  this  tragedy  (probably  not), 
no  one  would  take  away  the  first  eleven  lines.  Some  critics, 
though,  might  wish  them  put  immediately  before  Macbeth's 
first  speech,  with  the  narrative  scene  omitted.  But  in  either 
place  an  effect  is  sure.  Certainly  as  they  stand  they  make 
the  narrative  second  scene  less  tiring  than  it  otherwise  would 
be ;  for  it  can  be  got  over  in  the  afterglow  of  the  first,  though 
a  spectator  feels  a  distinct  dash  to  his  spirits  at  Duncan's 
opening  words. 

To  have  the  witches  come  in  again  after  the  tamer  second 
scene  is  clearly  a  connective  device  and  would  not  be  needed 
if  the  narrative  were  omitted.  Because  of  the  superfluity, 
some  critics  are  inclined  to  say  that  the  second  scene  and  the 
first  part  of  the  third  are  not  Shakespeare's  but  an  interpo- 
lation; the  speeches  of  the  witches  further  along,  however, 
upon  Macbeth's  entrance,  are  more  than  a  mere  device ;  they 
are  device  become  drama,  and  are  unquestionably  Shake- 
speare's work.  The  onlooker  realizes  at  once  what  the 
witches  are,  and  realizes  their  nature.       They  are  tragic 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  203 

things,  repugnant,  but  strangely  fascinating;  "fantastical" — 
in  Banquo's  sense  of  the  word ;  flitting  inhabitants  of  the 
air;  in  a  way,  outside  man,  but  with  uncanny  potency  to 
enter  receptive  minds.  They  are  the  personified  exciting 
motive  of  the  play.  Before  the  drama  is  done  and  the  spec- 
tator has  seen  the  last  of  these  creatures,  he  realizes  the 
treachery  of  entertained  evil  as  well  as  its  transforming 
power.  Macbeth  is  brought  out  as  a  changed  man  in  his 
contrasting  second  interview  with  the  weird  sisters.  It  is 
the  tragic  change  that  evil  brings  about  that  the  whole 
''Macbeth"  drama  emphasizes. 

Lady  Macbeth  is  obviously  more  than  a  mere  mind- 
attitude  personified,  but  she  just  as  obviously  is  that,  and 
performs  for  the  protagonist  and  the  action  of  the  drama 
that  function.  She  is  the  chief  of  the  witches  stepped  into 
Macbeth's  home;  or,  rather,  if  I  may  speak  as  the  Eliza- 
bethans would  very  well  have  understood,  in  her  the  trio 
of  witches  is  housed,  the  evil  thought  is  domesticated.  She 
is  Macbeth's  ambition.  She  supplies  the  courage  for  the 
first  deed  and  leads  in  the  execution  of  it.  After  the  execu- 
tion she  has  a  fading  part.  When  the  throne  is  obtained — 
when  Macbeth's  vaulting  ambition  has  o'erleaped  itself  and 
fallen  on  the  other  side  into  fear — her  part  is  done.  Fear 
is  alien  to  Lady  Macbeth's  nature.  She  rules  only  the  first 
part  of  Macbeth's  action.  What  is  left  for  her,  after  fear 
holds  sway,  is  silence.  One  might  go  on  to  argue  that  even 
the  gradual  and  quiet  dissolution  of  Lady  Macbeth  is  an 
evidence  of  what  the  author  meant  her  part  in  the  action 
to  be,  that  of  personified  ambition ;  for  just  so  ambition 
dies.     But  such  a  contention  would  be  more  than  foolish. 


204  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Shakespeare  was  not  writing,  an  allegory  and  did  not  think 
of  his  material  allegorically,  but  dramatically.  But  that  is 
just  the  point  here  being  made:  Shakespeare  was  present- 
ing, in  as  dramatic  and  concrete  a  way  as  possible,  his  con- 
ception of  tragedy.  There  is  something  stirring  and  dra- 
matically fascinating  about  the  progress  of  an  ambition, 
however  criminal  it  may  be,  and  there  is  something  tragic 
about  the  failure  of  an  ambition,  however  unworthy.  Lady 
Macbeth  is  no  less  a  tragic  character  in  this  play  than  is 
Macbeth,  though  she  is  a  reinforcing  and  parallel  one,  not 
the  chief.  It  is  noticeable  that  she  has  not  the  prominence 
that  lago  has  in  relation  to  Othello.  She  is  not  the  personi- 
fied inciting  force  of  the  entire  action ;  the  witches  are  that. 
She  holds  only  a  part  of  the  play  together.  She  is  a  device 
to  help  make  plain  the  author's  philosophy. 

This  statement  seems  to  be  stretching  somewhat  the  defi- 
nition of  device,  and  we  do  not  mean  to  maintain  the  sig- 
nification long;  but  we  want  to  see  clearly  how  the  whole 
play  is  a  devised  action  that  makes  evident  a  philosophical 
truth.  The  names  of  the  principal  personages  are  historical, 
as  we  have  said,  and  the  general  happenings  of  the  action  are 
legendary,  but  the  details  are  chosen^  and  the  characteriza- 
tions are  pointed.    A  special  effect  is  aimed  at. 

There  is  nothing  more  psychologically  correct  than  the 
words  Shakespeare  puts  into  the  mouth  of  his  weary  and 
troubled  protagonist  as  a  brief  reply  to  the  message  about 
the  death  of  the  queen.  She  had  been  his  ambition.  That 
was  dead  already — years  ago  it  seemed  to  him — what  could 
the  material  end  signify? 

*  From  at  least  two  stories  in  Holinshed's  "Chronicle." 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  205 

"She  would  have  died  hereafter; 
There  would  have  been  a  time  for  such  a  word." 

What  killed  Lady  Macbeth  was  thai  horrible  knocking 
at  the  gate.  When  the  world  came  back  in  on  the  mur- 
derers, the  futility  of  their  sacrifice  was  instantly  apparent. 
Macbeth  began  to  fear;  Lady  Macbeth,  to  die — inwardly, 
first.  The  knocking-at-the-gate  is  an  impressive  psycholog- 
ical device,  come  down  to  Shakespeare  as  an  effective  startler 
of  the  conscience  since  the  days  of  the  old  Gallican  ritual. 
It  is  the  "Tollite  Portas"  of  the  dedication  of  a  church, 
where  three  blows  with  a  staff  were  given  on  the  door.^  A 
person  concealed  within  used  to  slip  out  quasi  fugiens,  in 
dramatic  representation  of  the  expulsion  of  the  spirit  of 
evil.  Shakespeare  employs  this  momentous  knocking  three 
times:  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet,"  in  "Othello,"  and  here  in 
"Macbeth."  In  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  there  is  a  happy  turn; 
for  only  the  nurse  comes  in  on  Romeo's  concealment.  In 
"Othello"  the  knocking  is  an  extreme  relief;  it  is  our  first 
hope  that  the  hero  will  come  to  his  senses  and  that  the  victim 
may  yet  be  saved.  But  in  "Macbeth"  the  effect  is  terrific. 
It  is  the  knocking  at  the  gate  that  killed  ambition.  No 
visible  evil  fled  at  the  time,  but  we  see  later  in  the  sleep- 
walking scene  what  must  have  happened  psychically  at  this 

time. 

The  banquet  and  the  sleep-walking  scene  are  Shake- 
speare's original  contributions  to  the  Macbeth  story.  Not 
only  is  the  treatment  Shakespeare's  own,  but  so  far  as  critics 
have  been  able  to  ascertain,  the  fact  of  the  presence  of  these 
details  in  the  course  of  the  story  is  also  Shakespeare's  own.^ 

*  Cf.  E.  K.  Chambers :  Thf  Medurval  Stage,  Vol.  II,  p.  4 
«  Ward,  Vol.  II,  pp.  172-3- 


206  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

If  we  should  carefully  examine  these  scenes,  therefore,  and 
the  matters  related  to  them,  we  should  be  likely  to  find  dem- 
onstrated beyond  a  doubt  what  was  the  author's  conception 
of  the  tragedy  of  the  chronicle  he  selected  to  present.  That 
Shakespeare  wanted  first  of  all  to  write  an  acceptable  stage 
play  goes  without  saying.  But  why  a  tragedy?  And  if  a 
tragedy,  why  add  these  scenes  instead  of  others?  It  is  ap- 
parent that  these  are  the  memorable  scenes  of  the  play.  They 
bring  out  the  greatest  artistic  efforts  of  performers  and  are 
an  illuminative  comment  on  the  whole  action. 

The  banquet  is  used  as  the  author's  favorite  point  of  struc- 
ture, crisis-emphasis.  The  banquet  itself  is  a  fine  old  de- 
vice. It  had  been  a  popular  stage  setting  for  a  tragic  event 
since  the  days  of  the  mystery  cycles.  There  the  alarming 
circling  question,  "Is  it  I?'*  "Is  it  I?"  had  not  failed  of 
intense  dramatic  effect.  At  a  banquet  Cambises  had  ar- 
raigned his  wife,  whom  he  meant  to  kill.  And  now  Macbeth 
reveals  his  soul,  and  its  terrible  secret  to  his  "admired" 
guests.  Here  Shakespeare  for  the  fourth  time  in  his  trag- 
edies employs  the  ghost;  but  with  quite  a  different  effect. 
His  appreciation  of  the  tragic  possibilities  of  the  device  had 
developed. 

The  first  time,  in  "Richard  III,"  he  brings  on  a  troop  of 
ghosts  for  prolonged  stage  business ;  their  connection  with 
the  plot  is  slight  and  their  use  fantastic.  In  "Julius  Caesar" 
he  has  the  ghost  of  the  "murdered  man"  confront  the  as- 
sassin (at  least  so  the  stage  directions  identify  the  appari- 
tion) at  midnight  and  when  he  is  alone.  The  treatment  is  a 
distinct  change  from  the  original  narrative.  Plutarch  has 
Brutus  see  his  evil  genkis,  and  then  on  the  next  day  be 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  207 

argued  with  by  Cassius  that  the  apparition  was  an  hallucina- 
tion. Shakespeare,  we  recall,  was  at  the  time  of  the  writing 
of  "Julius  Caesar"  beginning  to  be  interested  in  Senecan 
ghosts  as  avengers.  That  fact  may  explain  why  he  passed 
over  unnoticed  a  chance  for  a  subtler  touch  than  he  gave, 
though  he  made  excellent  use  of  Plutarch's  suggestion.  He 
used  it  for  enlivening  the  return  action  with  spectacle,  and 
for  exquisite  character  embellishment.  Nothing  could  be 
better  in  its  way  than  the  late  character-sketching  of  Brutus 
in  that  scene.  There  Brutus  is  most  lovable,  and  there  occurs 
the  charming  episode  of  the  harp,  and  the  tired  boy,  and  of 
the  book  that  the  absent-minded  philosopher  has  lost  in  the 
pocket  of  his  gown.  That  Brutus  should  be  reading  on  the 
eve  of  a  great  battle  is  characteristic  of  the  man,  and  that  he 
should  see  a  ghost  when  sitting  alone  at  midnight  attests 
as  much  the  "authenticity"  of  Plutarch's  account  as  the 
treatment  of  the  scene  attests  Shakespeare's  gift  of  natural- 
ness. The  whole  effect,  however,  is  not  strikingly  tragic. 
Whoever  put  the  Senecan  ghost  into  the  "Hamlet"  play 
imposed  it  on  the  story.  The  use  there  is  more  intimately 
structural,  but  perhaps  less  psychologically  correct  through- 
out than  the  use  in  "Julius  Caesar."  Shakespeare's  magic 
touch  on  the  ghost  character  is  the  noticeable  fact  of  the 
"Hamlet"  supernatural  element. 

But  the  "Macbeth"  ghost  is  indisputably  a  philosophical 
thing — whether  visible  to  the  audience  or  not.  Whether  the 
apparition  is  supposed  to  be  only  an  hallucination  of  the 
troubled  mind  or  to  be  simply  a  ghost  indulging  in  a  ghost's 
prerogative  to  remain  unseen  save  by  the  person  particularly 
affected,  makes  no  difference  to  our  contention  here, — which 


208  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

is  that  the  use  of  the  ghost  in  "Macbeth"  is  clearly  a  device 
to  bring  out  a  philosophical  truth,  and,  though  a  theatrical 
artifice,  is  an  integral  part  of  the  whole  course  of  the  play. 
Indeed,  it  forms,  as  we  said,  the  crisis-emphasis.  The  ''Ham- 
let" ghost  appears  at  the  crisis-emphasis,  but  it  is  there  only 
as  an  incident  of  a  larger  scene.  It  does  not  have  the  same 
philosophical  connection  with  the  crisis  of  the  drama  as  the 
ghost  has  in  the  "Macbeth"  action.  The  "Hamlet"  presence 
is  well  prepared  for  and  its  connection  with  the  action, 
though  incidental,  is  obvious;  but  it  does  not  produce  the 
same  tragic  effect  as  its  successor  in  the  "Macbeth"  crisis- 
emphasis. 

I  say  successor  because  the  two  ghosts  are  not  so  unlike 
as  their  impressions  on  us  would  at  first  lead  us  to  believe. 
They  are  both  apparitions  of  a  murdered  man ;  they  appear 
in  the  crisis-emphasis  only  to  the  protagonist ;  and,  while  the 
"Hamlet"  ghost  speaks  and  the  "Macbeth"  one  does  not, 
Shakespeare  yet  takes  great  pains  in  the  "Hamlet"  action 
to  show  us  that  no  one  but  the  hero  heard  the  speech  of  the 
ghost,  as  he  takes  great  pains  in  both  cases  to  show  us  that 
nobody  saw  the  ghost  but  the  protagonist  concerned. 
Whether  or  not  the  "Macbeth"  ghost  be  only  an  hallucina- 
tion, and  one  that  should  or  should  not  be  presented  bodily 
on  the  stage,  really  makes  small  difference  to  the  final  effect 
of  the  action. 

This  statement,  though  true,  seems  at  first  sight  some- 
what strange  and  contradictory.  Because  this  fact  has  not 
been  thoroughly  grasped  is  the  reason,  I  think,  that  so  many 
critics  have  gone  astray  on  the  analysis  of  the  "Macbeth" 
action.    It  is  very  natural  to  assert  that  the  difference  in  the 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  209 

effect  of  the  "Hamlet"  ghost  and  of  the  "Macbeth"  ghost  is 
the  difference  in  sublimation,  the  "Macbeth"  ghost  being  the 
more  spiritual.  This  argument  would  hold  on  only  the  one 
quality— the  silence  of  the  ghost ;  for  in  many  earlier  Eliza- 
bethan plays— "The  Spanish  Tragedy,"  for  instance— the 
ghost,  while  it  appears  to  the  audience,  does  not  appear  to 
any  of  the  characters,  nor  does  it  enter  the  action  of  the 
tragedy.  Indeed,  in  "Richard  III"  the  ghosts  appear  only 
while  the  protagonist  and  the  antagonist  are  sleeping,  and 
address  them  only  during  their  dreams.  It  would  seem 
that  the  aloofness,  therefore,  would  tend  to  make  those 
supernatural  beings  more  spiritual  than  later  ones  that 
speak  in  the  action ;  but  we  know  that  such  is  not  the  im- 
pression. So,  too,  the  difference  in  the  effect  of  the  "Ham- 
let" ghost  and  the  "Macbeth"  ghost  is  not  primarily  a  dif- 
ference in  the  apparitions  themselves. 

In  other  words  and  to  be  brief,  the  effect  of  the  ghost- 
scene  in  "Macbeth"  does  not  depend  upon  the  ghost  alone 
but  upon  the  response  of  the  protagonist  to  the  ghost.  The 
banquet  scene  in  "Macbeth"  is  more  effective  than  all  other 
ghost  scenes,  because  the  philosophy  displayed  is  more 
effective,  the  revelation  is  clearer  as  to  what  is  truly  tragic 
in  human  life.  Macbeth's  response  shows  an  unmistakable 
downward  trend  of  the  protagonist. 

Shakespeare  had  always  conceived  of  tragedy  as^a  fall- 
but  what  kind  of  fall ?  A  fall  fromlTiigiroffiorto  indignity? 
Yes.  ("Richard  II.")  A  loss  of  one's  crown  and  a  fall 
before  one's  enemy  on  the  battlefield?  Yes.  ("Richard  III.") 
A  fall  before  malicious  fate?  Yes.  ("Romeo  and  Juliet.") 
A  fall  before  a  wily  antagonist  and  because  of  the  misap- 


210  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

plied  best  in  one's  own  nature,  a  self-imposed  death  finally? 

Yes.    ("Julius  Caesar.")    A  fall  because  of  conflict  between 

duty  and  disposition — a  duty  that  brings  death  to  someone 

else  and  a  disposition  that  brings  death  to  oneself?     Yes. 

("Hamlet")    A  fall  because  of  a  confidant's  wicked  machi- 

' nations    on   a    susceptible    and    passionate    nature?      Yes. 

I  ("Othello.")     A  fall  because  of  a  rash  deed  springing  out 

I  of  one's  most  characteristic  weakness  and  reacting  on  one 

to   the   final   destruction   of  both   body   and   mind?     Yes. 

("Lear.")     A  fall  because  of  one's  own  ambition,  a  fall 

from  natural  human  kindness  to  the  personality  of  a  tyrant 

and  then  a  fiend, — a  character-fall  that  destroys,  body,  mind, 

and  soul?     Surely  yes.     ("Macbeth.") 

Now,  if  this  is  the  proper  conception  of  the  "Macbeth" 
tragedy,  and  represents,  as  I  think  it  does,  the  most  lasting 
impression,  then  some  detailed  explanation  of  the  play  and 
the  impression  that  sophisticated  and  unsophisticated  per- 
sons alike  receive  of  the  structure,  is  necessary ;  for  this  con- 
ception that  we  speak  of  obviously  implies  a  slant  downward 
from  the  beginning,  and  seems  at  variance  with  the  general 
academic  criticism  to  the  effect  that  the  action  is  in  the  form 
of  a  pyramid,  as  it  were,  running  up  to  the  ghost  scene  and 
then  down  to  Macbeth's  death. 

This  confusion  of  ideas  comes  about,  it  seems  to  me, 
by  one's  keeping  too  much  to  a  preconceived  notion  and  not 
separating  philosophy  from  activities  and  drama  from  story. 
Or,  in  other  words,  not  realizing  that  the  dramatic  action 
of  the  Macbeth  tragedy  is  tripartite. 

Now,  the  direction  of  the  moral  action  is  clearly  down. 
Macbeth  is  a  worse  man  at  the  end  than  at  the  beginning 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  211 

of  the  play.  At  the  beginning  he  hesitates  because  of  nat- 
ural human  kindness.  But  later  when  he  comes  to  slaughter- 
ing innocent  babes  he  is  not  only  catching  the  nearest  way 
but  doing  so  without  debate.  He  is  morally  dead.  Macbeth 
falls  from  life  to  death.  Though  at  first  his  moral  life 
is  tainted  with  an  evil  ambition,  it  is  yet  life.  But  the 
tyrant's  treatment  of  Macduff's  wife  and  child  reveals  a 
dead  soul.  The  downfall  is  steady,  moreover.  The  moral 
action  is  not  up  and  then  down,  but  straight  down.  Macbeth 
continuously  falls  in  his  own  estimation  and  the  estimation 
of  others  from  the  beginning.  This  course  is  marked  by  his 
two  speeches :  "I  have  bought  golden  opinions  from  all 
sorts  of  men,  etc."  (Act  I,  Scene  7),  and  his  "Vm  sick  at 
heart,  etc."  (Act  V,  Scene  3).  He  realized,  as  no  one  else 
could,  that  his  life  had  fallen.  He  is  at  the  highest  point  of 
his  self-respect  in  the  earlier  scenes  of  the  play,  at  the  low- 
est in  the  later. 

We  are  not  left  in  doubt  about  the  moral  interpretation 
of  this  tragedy.  The  dramatist  resorts  to  his  most  emphatic 
device  to  enforce  understanding — Lady  Macbeth  in  the 
sleep-walking  scene.  The  philosophic  intent  is  here  expressed 
in  words.  It  is  accordingly  plain  that  Shakespeare  was  put- 
ting on  the  stage  not  only  a  theatrical  story  in  a  theatrical 
manner,  but  was  also  attempting  to  reveal  his  conception 
of  the  tragic  material.  Lady  Macbeth  is  not  only  herself, 
the  wife  of  the  tyrant,  but  is  the  symbol  of  his  inmost  life, 
his  ambition,  his  soul.  Her  perturbation  shown  when  she 
is  without  bodily  consciousness  is  therefore  all  the  more 
appropriate  and  forceful.  Her  talking  is  what  Macbeth's 
was  earlier — tragic  incident.    This  whole  scene  (V,  2)  may 


212  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

be  considered  an  enlarged  tragic  incident,  removed  some 
distance  from  the  crisis-emphasis.  The  tragic  fact  for  Mac- 
beth at  the  banquet  was  his  foolish  babbling ;  the  tragic  fact 
for  him  later  is  the  same  thing — the  utter  impossibility  of 
secrecy  concerning  his  deeds.  The  doctor  understands  the 
situation. 

"Unnatural  deeds 
Do  breed  unnatural  troubles :  infected  minds 
To  their  deaf  pillows  will  discharge  their  secrets." 

But  he  is  abashed  at  the  Queen's  revelations,  and  quickly 
asserts  that  the  disease  is  beyond  his  practice.  In  his  em- 
barrassment he  murmurs, 

"More  needs  she  the  divine  than  the  physician. 
God,  God  forgive  us  all!" 

Lady  Macbeth  is  not  a  weakling,  not  so  much  one  as  her 
more  physical  self,  her  husband.  She  goes  to  nobody  with 
confidences.  She  asks  no  comfort.  There  is  something 
frightful  in  her  reserve.  The  depth  of  her  unconscious  sigh 
alone  reveals  her  comprehension  of  her  fall.  When  we 
first  met  her  she  was  already  on  the  summit  of  her  aspira- 
tions.   She  said  in  her  first  greetings  to  her  lord, 

"Thy  letters  have  transported  me  beyond 
This  ignorant  present,  and  I  feel  now 
The  future  in  the  instant." 

What  remained  for  her  in  the  course  of  the  play,  then,  was 
the  fall  from  that  summit  to  the  realization  of  what  she  there 
unwittingly  prophesied.    She  thought  she  meant  only  success 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  213 

and  power ;  she  reveals  in  the  sleep-walking  scene  that  she 
realizes  descent  and  everlasting  criminal  stain. 

The  direction  of  the  psychological  action  is  also  down. 
Macbeth  has  the  best  command  of  his  mental  powers  at  the 
opening  of  the  play.  There  he  can  think  clearly  if  not  vigor- 
ously. Although  he  sees  strange  things,  he  can  reason  about 
them ;  and  not  only  about  them  but  about  their  effect  on  him 
himself.  Yet — and  here  is  where  the  two  actions  start  out 
together — his  reasoning,  from  the  first  is  tainted  with  moral 
unsoundness.  He  is  presented  as  already  entertaining  ille- 
gitimate thoughts,  and  unable  to  reach  independent  con- 
clusions in  a  new  experience.  The  contrast  is  definitely 
shown  by  means  of  Banquo's  reasoning  on  the  same  phe- 
nomena. Banquo's  is  made  conspicuous.  The  moral  strength 
of  Banquo  was  deliberatively  created  by  the  dramatist  for  a 
purpose.  The  characterization  was  Shakespeare's  addition 
to  the  legend,  and  indisputably  serves  the  purpose  of  setting 
out  in  sharp  relief  Macbeth's  precarious  state  of  mind.  He 
easily  confuses  issues.  The  point  I  wish  to  emphasize  here 
is  that  already  at  the  beginning  of  the  dramatic  action  the 
mind  tragedy  has  begun.  There  is  no  up  and  down,  but  just 
a  down  to  this  action. 

Macbeth  descends,  manifestly,  from  confusion  to  more 
confusion  in  his  mental  processes.  At  the  end  of  the  action 
he  is  in  a  frenzy  of  doubt  and  mistaken  confidence.  The 
ghost  scene  of  the  play  marks,  accordingly,  not  the  height 
of  his  frenzy  (the  end  of  the  play  marks  that)  but  the  be- 
ginning of  his  frenzy.  Where  confusion  passes  into  frenzy 
is  the  middle  point  in  this  downward  mental  course.  His 
course  mentally  is  first  chosen  confusion,  then  unchecked 


214  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

confusion,  then  unrestrainable  confusion.  The  appalling 
phenomenon  in  the  ghost  scene  is  not  the  appearance  of  the 
ghost  but  Macbeth's  foolish  babbling.  That  reveals  all.  If 
he  could  have  held  his  tongue,  his  visitors  would  have  been 
none  the  wiser.  It  is  loss  of  correlation  between  physical 
and  mental  action  that  the  ghost  scene  records.  Hereafter 
Macbeth  does  not  only  what  he  wants  to  do,  but  what  he 
does  not  want  to  do.  He  acts  through  fear.  Not  only  is 
this  scene  "the  very  painting  of  his  fear,"  but  the  succeed- 
ing scenes  are  also.  Every  new  scene  marks  continued  laps- 
ing of  judgment.  At  each  important  place  Macbeth  proves 
himself  less  virile,  less  of  a  thinking  man  than  before.  His 
talk  with  the  doctor,  though  very  tragic,  is  very  foolish.  His 
response  to  the  messenger  about  the  queen's  death  shows 
the  depths  of  his  mental  fall.  Everything  is  to  him_  finally 
as  a  tale  told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury,  signifying 
nothing.  His  immediate  last  responses  to  stimuli  are  but 
the  reflex  throwing  about  of  arms  and  legs,  as  it  were. 
There  is  no  directing  mind.  His  willingness  to  fight  is  not 
bravery. 

His  only  hope  of  safety  lay  In  restrained  action,  as  Mal- 
colm earlier  pointed  out.  Macbeth's  unreasoning  bravado 
of  response  to  the  approaching,  soldiers  is  imbecile  reflex 
action.  He  is  not  even  reasonable  enough  to  kill  himself 
as  Brutus  was.  Macbeth  thinks  about  the  matter,  but  he 
reaches  the  wrong  conclusion.  At  the  last  he  most  con- 
spicuously confuses  issues.  He  insanely  tries  to  believe  in 
his  charm,  although  he  has  himself  cursed  all  those  that 
trust  such  things. 

The  direction  of  the  moral  action  is  down,  the  direction 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  215 

of  the  psychological  action  is  down — what  of  the  narrative? 
Well,  that  is  up  and  then  down — if  by  **up  and  down"  is 
meant  that  the  protagonist  becomes  king  in  the  course  of  the 
story,  and  is  later  overthrown.  It  is  up— if  by  *'up"  is 
meant  a  continuation  of  the  protagonist  as  leader.  "Up" 
and  *'down,"  as  terms  in  dramatic  criticism,  are  naturally 
susceptible  of  definition.  By  "down"  in  the  moral  action  is 
meant  what  Macbeth  very  early  comprehended  and  ex- 
pressed, "Things  bad  begun  make  strong,  themselves  by  ill." 
The  protagonist  strides  on  from  one  bad  deed  to  a  worse. 
I  suppose  if  there  really  be  degree  in  crime,  it  is  worse  for 
Macbeth  to  kill  his  friend  and  confidant  Banquo  and  to 
attempt  to  kill  Banquo's  innocent  son  because  of  jealousy 
than  it  is  to  kill  Duncan,  who  really  stands  in  the  way  of 
ambition,  however  mild  he  may  be ;  and  it  is  worse,  I  sup- 
pose, to  kill  innocent  women  and  babes  for  no  reason  except 
pique  than  it  is  to  kill  prospective  successors  ;  and  it  is  worse, 
doubtless,  to  set  a  whole  nation  to  arms  and  to  killing  than  it 
is  to  take  the  life  of  one  man,  or  even  of  two  men.  But  this 
striding  forward  of  the  protagonist  in  evil  gives  the  effect  of 
a  continued  rise  in  the  activities  of  the  drama. 

This  rise  seems  to  be  an  attempt  at  climax.  The  pro- 
tagonist moves  forward  from  the  thought  of  evil  to  the 
execution  of  it ;  and  from  one  to  many  evil  acts,  and  he  rises 
not  only  in  truculence  but  in  promptness  of  execution.  Un- 
like Brutus,  Macbeth  does  not  stop  with  one  wicked  deed. 
Each  murder  as  a  murder  is  more  reckless  and  bold  than  the 
one  before  and  more  directly  presented.  The  first  is  behind 
closed  doors,  the  second  is  outside  the  house  in  a  dimly- 
lighted  wood,  the  third  is  in  a  neighboring  castle.      The 


216  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

tyrant  at  last  in  great  activity  fights  with  more  than  one 
antagonist,  kills  one,  and  is  in  turn  himself  slain.  Moreover, 
there  is  not  in  this  play,  as  in  "Julius  Caesar,"  a  transference 
of  interest  from  the  protagonist  to  the  antagonist.  While 
Macduff  is  carefully  introduced  as  the  discoverer  of  Dun- 
can's murder,  he  is  not  brought  prominently  into  the  sympa- 
thy of  the  audience  again  until  at  the  end  of  Act  IV,  when 
he  resolves  to  fight  the  tyrant.  The  presentation  of  him 
previous  to  that  resolution,  though  somewhat  extended,  is 
not  attractive.  Although  we  are  told  that  he  is  noble,  wise, 
and  judicious,  we  do  not  feel  his  personality.  We  realize 
only  that  he  has  fled  the  tyrant,  and  confesses  to  have  lost 
hope.  This  keeping  of  Macduff  in  the  background  as  a 
personality  may  have  been  a  deliberate  attempt  to  save  the 
unity  of  the  dramatic  action,  and  keep  the  interest  in  Mac- 
beth constantly  rising. 

It  seems  that  Shakespeare's  original  plan  must  have  been 
to  have  no  purely  narrative  scenes.  Whether  those  present 
in  the  play  as  it  now  stands  were  interpolations  by  him  him- 
self later  for  a  special  reason,  or  by  someone  else  still  later 
for  a  special  reason,  will  never  be  settled,  I  suppose.  At  any 
rate,  whether  Shakespeare  wrote  those  uninteresting  narra- 
tive scenes  of  Malcolm  and  Macduff  in  the  second  half  of 
the  play,  or  not,  there  is  this  to  be  said  for  them :  they  are 
perfectly  clear  and  withal  consonant,  even  though  they  are 
superfluous.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  they  are  superfluous, 
however,  since  we  should  understand  all  that  happens  and 
should  be  ready  for  the  catastrophe  if  there  were  no  such 
scenes  interspersed.  Macbeth's  and  the  servants'  announce- 
ments are  enough  to  keep  us  informed.     It  is  the  presence 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  217 

of  these  narrative  scenes  that  occasions  most  of  the  adverse 
comments  on  the  "Macbeth"  action.  They  really  do  not 
break  the  upward  movement  of  the  piece,  however,  but  are 
only  stumbling  blocks  to  the  spectators'  interest. 

The  fault  of  the  narrative  scenes,  moreover,  is  not  only 
in  the  superfluity  of  their  content  but  in  their  narrativeness. 
They  lack  dramatic  device.  The  first  part  of  the  narrative 
action  runs  swiftly  along  in  the  same  devices  as  the  psy- 
chological and  moral  actions,  but  not  so  the  second  part — or, 
rather,  so  also  the  second  part  of  the  drama  except  for  the 
superfluity  within  it.  There  is  much  of  interest  in  the  sec- 
ond half  of  the  play — preeminently,  Macbeth's  continued 
moral  fall  and  the  death  of  his  ambition.  These  are  well 
given  by  Shakespeare  in  the  best  of  the  witch  scenes,  in  the 
sleep-walking  scene,  and  in  Macbeth's  interview  with  the 
doctor.  The  interest  does  not  lapse  in  these  scenes.  But 
whether  there  was  a  deliberate  design  by  Shakespeare  to 
insure  the  dramatic  impression  of  climax  or  not,  it  is  im- 
possible, in  view  of  the  general  comment  on  the  play,  to 
ignore  the  impression  of  an  up  and  down  in  this  action. 

So  far  as  the  mere  summary  of  the  story  goes,  we  say,  a 
rise  and  fall  are  indicated.  The  protagonist  in  the  course  of 
the  action  becomes  king  and  is  subsequently  overthrown. 
But,  nevertheless,  as  in  the  case  of  Lear  and  of  all  Shake- 
speare's later  protagonists,  the  overthrow  is  not  a  matter  of 
ability  outside  but  a  matter  of  inability  inside  the  protago- 
nist. As  a  conspicuous  contrast  with  "Julius  Caesar,"  it  is  a 
notable  fact  that  at  the  crisis-emphasis  the  protagonist  of 
the  "Macbeth"  drama  does  not  grapple  with  a  man  antag- 
onist but  with  a  ghost;  and  at  the  catastrophe  he  does  not 


218  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

concern  himself  so  much  with  his  opponent  as  with  the  dis- 
appointing equivocation  of  the  witches.  It  is  a  soul  tragedy 
that  is  recorded  in  the  central  scenes  and  is  consummated 
at  the  end  of  the  play,  as  well  as  a  bodily  tragedy.  That 
Shakespeare  intended  to  avoid  a  change  of  dominance  seems 
plain. 

Moreover,  it  is  to  be  noted  in  considering  a  graphic  rep- 
resentation of  the  action  that  the  murder  of  Duncan  comes 
very  early  in  the  play — in  the  second  scene  of  the  second 
act.  The  rise  to  the  first  murder  is  rapid  and  really  occurs 
in  the  Introduction.  It  is  not  only  the  rise  to  this  murder 
that  the  dramatist  evidently  means  to  present,  but  the  rise 
to  the  next,  and  the  next  as  well,  where  the  protagonist  is 
"stepped"  in  so  far,  that  should  he  wade  no  further  return- 
ing were  as  tedious  as  going  on.  Where  the  murders  begin 
to  be  tedious  both  for  the  perpetrator  and  for  the  audience  is 
where  the  moral  action  begins  to  weigh  on  the  narrative. 
Where  the  moral  action  begins  to  come  out  strongest  is  the 
place  where  we  begin  to  lose  a  sense  of  rise  in  the  narrative. 
The  moral  drag  levels  the  narrative  rise.  Though  Macbeth's 
second  interview  with  the  weird  sisters  would  be  as  dra- 
matically fascinating  to  an  Elizabethan  audience  as  the  first 
interview  or  as  the  ghost  scene,  yet  even  the  crudest  appren- 
tice could  not  miss  the  evidence  of  the  moral  change.  It  is 
the  moral  and  psychological  actions  outweighing  the  narra- 
tive that  give  the  sense  of  reversal  of  fortune  near  the  mid- 
dle of  the  play.  But  there  is  really  no  reversal  of  fortune 
until  the  very  end  of  the  drama.  Macbeth  is  not  sent  out 
of  the  country  as  Romeo  and  Hamlet  were;  he  is  not 
replaced  at  the  middle  of  the  action  by  a  more  virile  per- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  219 

sonality  as  Brutus  was.  Materially,  he  holds  his  own  to  the 
last.  Only  at  the  last  scene  of  the  last  act,  where  Macbeth 
loses  his  head,  is  he  supplanted  by  Macduff  either  in  interest 
or  in  deeds.  The  narrative  action  is  consequently  straight 
up  from  the  beginning,  with  a  sharp  turn  only  at  the  end 
where  Birnam  wood  begins  its  march  to  high  Dunsinane  hill« 
and  Macduff — not  born  of  woman — meets  Macbeth.  But 
the  psychological  and  moral  actions  are  straight  down  from 
the  beginning.  Possibly  it  is  the  glancing  from  one  action 
to  the  others  that  occasions  the  optical  illusion  of  a  change 
in  the  direction  of  the  actions  near  the  middle  of  the  play. 
We  are  never  confused,  though,  about  the  course  of  the  play 
as  a  whole.  We  are  aware  from  the  start  that  Macbeth  is  to 
fall,  that  the  psychological  and  moral  actions  are  in  interest 
to  take  precedence  of  the  narrative ;  or,  better,  that  the  narra- 
tive is  but  the  means  by  which  will  be  displayed  a  great  mind 
and  soul  tragedy. 

The  weak  spot  in  the  latter  part  of  the  "Macbeth'*  drama 
is  not  the  beginning  of  the  "return"  action.  The  Malcolm- 
Macduff  scene  is  but  the  superfluous  visible  preparation  of 
the  antagonist  for  the  final  personal  combat.  The  spectator 
already  knows  before  this  scene  who  is  to  be  the  agent  of 
Macbeth's  physical  death,  and  the  conversation  therefore 
adds  nothing  new. 

The  return  action  in  the  sense  of  punishment  for  evil 
thoughts  and  deeds  accompanies  those  evil  thoughts  and 
deeds  all  the  time,  and  conspicuously  from  their  inception. 
That  fact  is  the  philosophy  of  the  whole  tragedy.  Macbeth's 
first  seriously  entertained  thought  of  murder  unfixes  his  hair 
and  makes  his  seated  heart  knock  at  his  ribs.    His  troubled 


220  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

brain  immediately  begins  to  see  daggers  where  none  are,  and 
all  along  in  the  following  deeds  to  revolt  against  his  will. 
The  crisis  for  the  psychological  action  occurs  in  the  first 
meeting  with  the  witches ;  the  rest  of  the  play  is  a  study  of 
the  reaction  of  that  thought  on  the  mind  that  entertains  it. 
The  crisis  of  the  moral  action  occurs  in  the  first  murder; 
the  remainder  of  the  play  is  a  presentation  of  the  complete 
deadening  of  all  reluctance  to  physical  and  moral  horrors. 
The  crisis-emphasis  of  both  actions  occurs  in  the  banquet- 
scene.  The  tragic  incident  that  reviews  what  has  gone  be- 
fore and  makes  doubly  sure  what  is  to  follow  is  Macbeth's 
foolish  babbling,  supplemented  and  emphasized  later  by  his 
wife's  revelations.  The  arrest  of  the  catastrophe  comes  in 
early  as  the  witches'  pronouncements  that  occasion  a  double 
vain  hope  in  a  confused  mind.  This  principle  of  equivoca- 
tion operates  to  the  very  last,  not  only  seemingly  on  the  mind 
of  the  protagonist  but  on  the  mind  of  the  audience.  And 
the  material  catastrophe  falls  sharply  upon  the  removal  of 
the  final  support. 

We  are  back  now  to  the  question  of  Shakespeare's  original 
contributions  to  the  Macbeth  story  besides  the  mere  art  of 
the  presentation;  and  we  ask,  What  is  his  distinct  advance 
in  tragic  structure  beyond  command  of  theatrical  devices? 
We  answer:  Advance  in  the  tragic  idea  that  controls  struc- 
ture. The  "Macbeth"  story  is  much  more  rationally  con- 
nected with  the  psychological  and  philosophic  actions  than  is 
the  "Lear"  story.  The  run  of  the  three  actions  almost  indis- 
solubly  together  gives  the  remarkably  satisfying  total  effect 
of  the  "Macbeth"  drama.  If  it  were  not  for  the  interpola- 
tion of  the  few  superfluous  scenes,  we  might  say  that  the 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  221 

three  actions  are  never  separate,  yet  always  distinct.  It  is 
the  reasonableness  and  clarity  of  the  philosophy,  above  all, 
though,  that  conserves  the  interest.  Mere  murder  itself  is 
not  an  engaging  spectacle  except  to  persons  of  depraved 
tastes.  But  the  contemplation  of  the  change  wrought  in  the 
soul  by  considered  and  executed  evil  is  always  intensely 
attractive,  because  always  intensely  pertinent  to  daily  living. 
That  there  is  also  manifestation  of  advanced  theatrical 
cleverness  in  the  "Macbeth"  drama  no  one  would  deny. 
The  devices  of  spectacle,  and  surprise,  and  of  a  continuously 
threatened  and  suspended  catastrophe  were  evidently  so 
pleasing  as  stage  effects  as  to  become  mannerisms  of  later 
imitators.  Shakespeare's  taste  can  be  called  in  question 
perhaps  only  twice  in  this  matter  of  twist  and  surprise,  and 
the  lines  covering  the  points  in  question  have  by  many  critics 
been  attributed,  with  some  degree  of  finality,  to  other 
writers.^  The  appearance  of  the  ghost  at  the  banquet  could 
not  have  been  better  managed  whether  as  an  hallucination 
or  as  an  "honest"  ghost  seen  only  by  Macbeth.  But  the  fact 
that  at  the  crisis-emphasis  Macbeth's  opponent  (Shake- 
speare's especial  contribution  to  the  dramatis  personae) 
should  be  a  ghost  seems  at  first  thought  a  little  strange  in 
view  of  our  earlier  statement  of  Shakespeare's  evolution. 
We  seem  to  have  rounded  the  circle  back  to  ghostly  antag- 
onists that  have  not  much  blood  in  them.  It  seems  like  a 
contradiction  to  say  that  Shakespeare's  work  is  most  con- 

^  See  preface  to  Temple  "Macbeth,"  and  Ward,  Vol.  II,  p.  172. 

I  should  be  inclined  to  consider  the  Malcolm-Macduflf  conversation 
also  an  interpolated  passage  of  a  later  writer  as  much  because  of 
the  attempt  at  surprise  in  the  reversion  of  the  sentiments  expressed 
as  by  any  other  test  except  that  of  general  dullness  and  superfluity. 


222  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TKCIINIC 

spicuous  for  the  evolution  of  tlic  antagonist,  and  then  to  say 
thai  in  his  latest  plays  the  antagonist  is  of  least  importance — 
to  say  that  the  MacclufTs,  Octavins  Caesars,  and  the 
Aufidiuses  are  of  little  conse(iuence  in  the  inii)ression  the 
plays  make. 

Yet  the  statements  are  both  true,  and  arc  not  contradic- 
tories. The  latest  obscurity,  or  generality,  of  the  human 
antagonist  is  an  ojij^jsilc,  not  a  rcix-tilion,  of  the  fnst  ob- 
scurity. 'I  he  latest  j)lays  arc  the  exj)ression  of  a  continued 
princij)le  highly  developed.  The  earlier  obscurity  of  the 
human  antagoni.st  is  accidental.  The  later  seems  intentional 
and  ])remeditatcd.  T-ike  Kant,  who  had  to  destroy  belief 
to  make  room  for  faith,  Shakespeare  had  to  destroy  the  sign 
to  make  room  for  the  thing  signified.  There  is  not  less 
tragic  struggle  but  more  in  tlx-  later  plays.  The  antagonist 
proj)er  is  now  convincingly  within  the  protagc^nist,  is  his 
own  nature  warring  against  itself.  What  Shakesj)eare  failed 
to  make  plain  in  the  "I. ear"  introduction,  he  made  indis- 
putably plain  in  the  "Macbeth."  The  outer  symbolizes  the 
inner  action.  The  whole  of  Act  1  is  really  an  introduction 
to  tlie  tragedy  which  foHows. 

The  exj>lanation  of  the  early  place  in  the  action  of  the 
murder  of  Dimcan  is  patent  when  we  remember  that  the 
"Macbeth"  tragedy  is  not  a  study  of  the  rise  of  a  good  man 
to  a  horrible  (\vc(\ — "r)thello"  is  that — but  the  rise  of  an 
ambitious  man  to  a  horrible  ilccd  and  a  still  more  horrible 
deed,  and  so  on,  with  continued  and  accompanying  reaction 
all  the  time  in  mind  and  soul.  There  is  not  in  the  "Macbeth" 
drama  the  break  between  the  introduction  and  the  rise  to  the 
crisis  as  there  is  in  the  "( )theIlo,"  because  the  "Macbeth" 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  223 

introduction  is  itself  the  rise  to  the  crisis.  There  is  not  the 
same  hardly  explainable  relation  between  (he  crisis  and  the 
crisis-emphasis  as  there  is  in  "Lear,"  because  the  crisis  in 
"Macbeth"  is  not  thrust  upon  us  unprepared,  although  it 
rightly  comes  very  early,  since  the  play  is  one  emphasizing 
reaction. 

The  rise  of  Othello  is  compelled,  is  a  mailer  of  outside 
stimulus;  hence  the  reaction  is  brief  and  withal  satisfying. 
The  fall  of  Lear  is  his  own  doing,  though  he  is  continuously 
pushed  on  by  reinforcing  agents.  The  tragic  idea  is  correct, 
therefore,  but  not  altogelher  clear.  The  "punishment" 
seems  out  of  proportion  lo  llie  ofTense,  although  the  idea  of 
unchecked  temper  is  basal.  We  have  not  seen  enough  of  the 
protagonist's  fateful  actions  before  the  crisis  to  take  his 
tragic  end  unquestioningly.  We  only  hear  of  his  previous 
actions  and  only  through  the  mouths  of  Goneril  and  Regan 
after  ihe  crisis.  We  gel  ihc  Iragic  idea  solely  by  instruction, 
as  it  were,  whereas  we  get  Ihe  tragic  result  by  sight.  Hence 
a  feeling  of  lack  of  justice  in  llic  resull.  The  introduction 
of  "Macbeth"  is  lheref(MT  so  far  better  than  that  of  "Lear" 
as  it  shows  the  protagonist  before  the  crisis  in  a  rise  long 
enough  to  assure  the  spectator  that  the  doer  of  the  i]QC(\ 
appreciates  his  own  act.  All  through  the  drama  the  tragic 
idea  is  made  plain  both  by  instruction  and  by  presentation. 
We  see  Macbeth  rise  from  thought  to  deed,  and  from  con- 
sidered deed  to  precipitate  deed  at  the  same  time  as  we  feel 
him  fall  from  activity  of  mind  and  soul  to  inactivity,  from 
sensibility  to  insensibility.  Suddenly  the  rise  and  fall  be- 
come one  in  the  consummation  of  merited  death. 

The  rise  in  deeds  gives  theatrical  eiTect ;  the  fall  in  mind 


224  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

and  soul  gives  tragic  effect ;  the  two  together  give  a  power- 
ful dramatic  effect  in  an  action  pronouncedly  English  and 
Elizabethan.  Although  he  had  come  fully  to  a  new  concep- 
tion of  tragedy,  Shakespeare,  the  practical  writer  of  plays, 
did  not  forego  in  the  "Macbeth"  drama  the  stage  advantage 
of  spectacle,  or  of  personal  combat  on  a  field  of  battle  be- 
tween human  adversaries.  In  other  words,  he  added  to  the 
"Richard  III"  material  a  moral  reluctance  on  the  part  of  the 
protagonist,  and  a  struggle  within  the  hero's  own  heart. 
This  moral  action  is  the  most  distinguished  fact  of  the 
"Macbeth"  tragedy.  It  is  what  gives  the  drama  its  unity 
and  its  superiority  over  so  good  a  play  as  "Richard  III." 
It  is  the  moral  action  likewise  that  adds  to  the  embodied 
British  legend  its  life  beyond  life. 


Chapter  XI 

The    Philosophic    Idea   and    Climax   in    Falling   Action 

One  can  not  mistake  the  matter.  By  the  time  Shakespeare 
had  finished  writing  ''Lear"  and  "Macbeth"  he  was  pre- 
occupied with  something  besides  story  or  structure.  A 
philosophy  of  tragedy  had  grown  upon  him.  Hamlet  had 
become  a  mouthpiece  for  a  great  deal  of  moralizing:  but 
Hamlet  is  a  "good"  hero,  simply  placed  in  the  unfortunate 
position  of  having  his  conventional  sense  of  duty  clash  with 
his  temperament.  Othello,  though  passionate,  is  also  a  good 
hero,  primarily  led  astray  by  a  villain.  But  Lear  is  a  man 
in  whose  nature  in  itself  and  by  itself  dwells  tragedy.  So 
is  Macbeth,  so  is  Antony,  so  Coriolanus,  so  Timon.  It  was 
a  large  and  deep  conception  of  tragic  action  that  haunted 
the  mind  of  the  mature  Shakespeare. 

If  the  generally  accepted  chronological  sequence  of  his 
productions  be  at  all  correct,  then  the  following  growth  is 
evident :  Shakespeare  developed  from  a  playwright  present- 
ing with  informing  characterization  an  historical  chronicle 
of  violent  deeds  to  a  dramatist  presenting  great  tragic  strug- 
gle. He  grew  from  a  consideration  of  Elizabethan  pathos 
and  sentimentality,  criminal  boldness  and  meditative  inde- 
cision, and  of  the  Italian  idea  of  the  gullibility  of  a  passion- 
ate nature,  to  a  consideration  of  disposition  at  strife  with 
itself.     Moreover,  this  idea  of  tragic  struggle  underwent  in 

225 


226  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

his  mind  a  complete  circle  of  evolution.  It  is  interesting  to 
note  that  while  the  plays  of  the  last  period  repeat  in  a  sense 
those  of  the  earlier,  but  with  a  deeper  conception  of  the 
tragic  material — ''Macbeth"  being  a  more  intense  study  of 
tyranny  and  murder  than  "Richard  III"  is;  "Antony  and 
Cleopatra,"  of  personal  attraction  than  "Romeo  and 
Juliet";  "Coriolanus,"  of  Roman  pride  and  self-deception 
than  "Julius  Caesar";  and  "Timon  of  Athens,"  of  egoism 
and  pyrotechnic  passion  than  "Lear" — in  turn,  the  idea  of 
what  is  real  catastrophe  is  shown  remarkably  developed. 
The  philosophy  of  Hamlet  is  largely  a  questionnaire  put 
into  the  play,^  is  a  more  modern  query  superimposed  upon 
an  old  story.  While  the  additions  reflect  the  author's  curi- 
osity about  the  moral  responsibility  of  his  hero,  yet  the 
tragedy  of  the  completed  action  resolves  itself  into  mere 
bodily  death — "Good  night,  sweet  Prince,  and  flights  of 
angels  sing  thee  to  thy  rest."  But  the  catastrophe  of  the 
"Macbeth"  tragedy  is  something  far  diflferent.  Hamlet's 
death  is  of  the  body;  Lear's,  of  the  body  and  the  mind; 
Macbeth's,  of  the  body,  mind,  and  soul. 

If  this  fact  is  not  clear  in  the  "Macbeth"  tragedy,  nothing 
is  clear.  If  this  statement  does  not  express  the  continued 
and  final  effect  of  its  triple  action,  then  the  "Macbeth"  trag- 
edy is  no  better  than  the  "Richard  III."  But  if  this  state- 
ment be  correct,  then  Antony,  Coriolanus,  and  Timon  may 
be  considered  further  studies  in  moral  and  spiritual  tragedy. 
Now,  by  "moral"  one  evidently  can  not  mean  anything 
mawkish  or  pious,  or  anything  limited  to  particular  deeds, 

1  There  is  indisputable  evidence  that  Shakespeare  went  back  to 
an  earlier  draft  of  the  play  and  inserted  the  philosophy  at  various 
places. 


IN   ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  227 

but  that  general  Tightness  and  oughtness  of  human  conduct 
which  thinking  persons  apprehend.  For  a  man  to  fall  from 
a  sense  of  that  to  utter  disregard  of  it,  is  to  fall  in  soul  as 
well  as  in  mind  and  body.  And  by  "soul"  we  must  (in  this 
connection,  at  least)  mean  simply  those  highest  phenomena 
of  human  life,  emotion  and  intellect;  by  "spirit,"  the 
dynamic  tone  of  emotion  and  intellect.  And  by  the  "falling 
of  the  soul  and  the  tragedy  of  spirit,"  we  must  mean  (if  not 
more)  surely  this :  the  loss  of  discrimination  and  the  loss  of 
dynamic  harmony — in  other  words,  the  loss  of  the  right 
adjustment  of  emotion  to  human  living. 

In  connection  with  Richard  III  there  is  no  thought  of 
soul,  because  no  thought  of  emotion.  Richard  acts  without 
feeling.  It  is  the  lack  of  disturbing  emotion  in  him  that 
fascinates  the  beholder  of  the  play.  Romeo  and  Juliet  solve 
the  problem  of  emotion  for  themselves  and  their  families. 
Their  end  is  reconciling,  extremely  pathetic,  but  not  tragic 
in  the  sense  that  Macbeth's  is  tragic.  Indeed,  neither  is 
Brutus's.  He  made  a  great  mistake  and  paid  for  it  with 
his  life;  but  he  thought  he  was  right.  His  tragedy  is  a 
tragedy  of  mistake  of  reason,  but  not  of  soul. 

"His  life  was  gentle,  and  the  elements 
So  mixed  in  him  that  Nature  might  stand  up 
And  say  to  all  the  world,  This  was  a  man.'  " 

The  same  statement  might  be  made  of  Hamlet.  The  dis- 
turbance to  Hamlet's  emotion  came  from  the  outside.  He 
struggled  against  an  unwelcome  duty,  but  finally  accom- 
plished it.    Exterior  circumstances  solved  the  remainder  of 


228  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

the  difficulty,  his  fear  of  living  unhappy  in  his  own  esteem. 
However  that  might  have  resulted  for  other  people  and  the 
kingdom. 

"He  was  likely,  had  he  been  put  on, 
To  have  proved  most  royally." 

Othello's  misadjustment  was  temporary.  It  coexisted  with 
lago's  malicious  power,  and  lasted  no  longer.  The  unfor- 
tunate man  soon  saw  his  stupendous  error  and  rectified  it 
as  best  he  could.  And  though  he  took  his  own  life,  it  was,  in 
his  sense,  ''happiness  to  die."  Moreover,  he  left  his  enemy 
to  the  judgment  of  the  state. 

But  Lear,  as  we  have  seen,  did  not  altogether  solve  his 
emotional  relation  to  the  world.  His  mind  ruined,  and  his 
heart  still  set  on  Cordelia's  love  (when  she  could  come  no 
more,  "Never,  never,  never,  never,  never!"),  he  died,  at 
strife  with  the  gods  even  to  the  end — only  more  holily  in 
his  'unreason'  than  in  his  reason. 

It  is  his  partial  victory  in  the  struggle,  however,  that 
places  "Lear"  with  the  middle  group  rather  than  with  the 
last  of  Shakespeare's  tragedies.  Macbeth,  Antony,  Corio- 
lanus,  and  Timon  carry  on  a  struggle  that  is  a  losing  one 
entirely.  For  Macbeth  there  is  no  hope  or  right  adjust- 
ment to  living  after  he  seriously  entertains  the  first  murder- 
ous thought.  None  for  Antony  in  this  play,  since  he  has 
already  met  Cleopatra.  None  for  Coriolanus,  likewise,  from 
the  beginning;  for  he  is  at  cross-fate  with  events  not  only 
in  disposition  but  in  spirit.  Timon  can  find  no  right  way 
of  living,  either — a  prodigal  always,  Timon  goes  to  the  ex- 
treme in  hate  and  vituperation. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  229 

The  writing  of  "Macbeth"  brought  to  Shakespeare's  mind 
a  close  study  of  criminal  ambition,  and  of  its  essential  fail- 
ure. He  saw  plainly  (for  he  shows  plainly  to  us)  that  trag- 
edy does  not  reside  in  the  mere  fact  of  the  wrong-doing,  but 
in  the  resultant  struggle.  If  we  could  do  wrong  and  not 
care,  as  Macbeth  says,  "we'ld  jump  the  life  to  come.  But  .  .  . 
we  still  have  judgment  here" — that  is,  'struggle' — and  the 
struggle  is  the  tragedy  that  returns  to  plague  the  inventor. 
Not  mere  punishment  in  deeds ;  for  such  would  be  easy  to 
take !  Would  Coriolanus  or  Antony  fear  heavy  blows  ? 
Each  has  risked  his  life  many  times.  Each  has  often  given 
and  received  defeat  in  battle.  It  is  a  turmoil  of  soul  that 
forms  his  tragedy.  It  is  the  strife  with  the  gods  that  puts 
him  down.  His  own  disposition  running  counter  to  the 
world-order  defeats  him.  The  spectator  feels  that  this  is  the 
immanent  tragedy  of  everyone.  Catastrophe  comes  not 
alone  because  of  what  one  does  or  what  others  do,  but 
because  of  what  one  is  and  the  world  is — a  strife  of  will 
with  world,  and,  since  the  world  is  made  up  of  others  and 
oneself,  a  strife  with  oneself !  Timon  demonstrated  that  go 
but  in  twos  and  there  is  the  world !  And  if  you  cannot 
adjust  the  relationship,  there,  then,  is  also  tragedy.  Timon 
could  not  adjust  it  save  with  one  man,  and  that  one  was 
compelled  to  depart  quickly  lest  the  adjustment  fail.  Timon 
represents  the  complete  transformation  of  one's  most  native 
impulses  into  the  worst  self-infecting  virus  that  ever 
poisoned  a  man's  life — hatred  of  his  fellow  men.  These 
conclusions  seem  like  a  dreary  view  of  life,  but  they  are 
not.  They  are  only  a  view  of  the  tragedy  of  life.  The  truth 
of  Shakespeare's  dramas  is  the  truth  of  the  world:    Nature 


230  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

will  not  tolerate  extremes.  And  it  seems  to  be  Shakespeare's 
especial  pronouncement  that  she  will  not  tolerate  immoder- 
ate, self-centered  irascibility — not  tolerate  hateful  spite  even 
toward  the  hateful.  The  sequence  of  Lear,  Coriolanus,  and 
Timon  forms  a  tragic  emphasis  of  the  theme. 

In  our  absorption  with  Shakespeare's  darker  plays  we 
must  not  forget  his  comedies  and  half-comedies.  Numerous 
allegories  have  been  drawn  from  the  fact  that  Shakespeare 
ends  his  career  with  tragi-comedies.  If  we  cared  for  the 
connotation,  we  might,  in  the  study  of  structure,  also  draw 
an  allegory,  and  that  from  the  last  of  his  tragedies.  We 
might  note  that  Shakespeare  apparently  abandoned  the  story 
of  Timon  as  too  bitter  for  what  is  rightly  and  artistically 
a  play;  and  "Coriolanus"  the  last,  therefore,  proves  to  be 
the  most  reserved  and  regular  of  his  tragic  compositions,  as 
a  composition.  But  we  have  spent  more  than  enough  time 
in  an  excursion  on  the  philosophic  principle  of  Shakespeare's 
tragedies.  What  we  need  to  see  is  that  the  idea  which 
Shakespeare  reached  of  what  is  essentially  tragic  in  human 
life  afTected  both  the  choice  of  subject  and  the  structure 
of  his  later  pieces,  the  structure  in  some  respects  giving  way 
to  the  idea.  For  instance,  so  absorbed  was  Shakespeare  with 
Antony's  ruin  that  he  gave  us  nothing  else  in  the  play. 

It  was  said  in  a  previous  chapter  that  with  the  writing 
of  "Lear"  Shakespeare  had  come  to  a  conception  of  tragedy 
beyond  technic.  The  truth  of  this  statement  is  evinced  by 
the  effect  of  the  "Antony  and  Cleopatra."  It  is  at  once  the 
most  typical  and  the  most  novel  of  Elizabethan  productions. 
Its  boldness  is  astounding  and  its  beauty  beyond  that  of 
either  drama  or  story.     It  is  the  most  poetic  play  and  to 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  231 

many  readers  seems  the  greatest  of  the  author's  achieve- 
ments. It  is  clearly  the  deepest  study  of  character-present- 
ment. As  we  realized  of  the  "Lear"  crisis-emphasis,  so  we 
realize  of  the  "Antony  and  Cleopatra"  catastrophe:  it  is 
the  most  remarkable  attainment  of  its  author  in  the  particu- 
lar point  of  structure.  Shakespeare  devotes  two  whole  acts 
to  the  elaboration  of  the  fall  of  the  catastrophe,  and  devotes 
the  preceding  three  acts  to  its  preparation.  The  whole 
tragedy  of  Antony,  like  that  of  Lear,  is  a  falling  action. 
The  very  first  words  are 

"Nay,  but  this  dotage  of  our  general's 
O'erflows  the  measure." 

Much  criticism  has  been  offered  on  the  violation  of  the 
unities  in  this  drama;  and  yet  the  character  unity  is  abso- 
lute. There  is  one  all-pervading  presence — Antony's  Cleo- 
patra !  The  unity  of  place  is  broken,  if  you  have  in  your 
mind's  eye  our  stage  and  the  appointments  it  would  need. 
If  you  think  of  the  Elizabethan  stage,  you  remember  that  a 
change  of  scene  was  scarcely  noticeable.  And  if  you  throw 
yourself  into  the  spiritual  action  of  the  piece,  you  appreciate 
that  there  are  but  two  places  in  the  world  that  make  any 
difference  to  Antony,  and  that  make  any  difference  to  you 
as  spectator ;  namely,  in  Cleopatra's  presence  or  out.  Antony 
is,  however,  a  doomed  man  from  the  beginning,  whether 
in  or  out.  In  truth,  he  always  is  in  Cleopatra's  presence 
whether  spatially  near  her  or  not.  She  is  his  space,  as  he 
tragically   declares  in  his  first  utterances. 

Freytag^  censures  Shakespeare  for  not  giving  us  a  scene 

1  Die  Technik  dcs  Dramas,    pp.  64-5  with  note. 


232  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

where  Antony  makes  up  his  mind  to  return  to  Cleopatra — 
the  climax  scene,  as  Freytag  thinks  it  would  be.  It  would 
indeed  of  necessity  be  a  climax  scene  and  not  only  a  crisis. 
How,  then,  could  Shakespeare  give  us  it  and  the  great 
catastrophe  also?  The  emotions  would  be  the  same.  Not 
only  in  North,  but  in  Nature's  "infinite  book  of  secrecy," 
Shakespeare  had  read  a  little.  He  had  found  out  what  a 
tragedy  is.  He  had  shown  us  in  "Lear"  that  it  is  not 
primarily  a  decision  but  a  disposition.  The  crisis  for  Antony 
had  come  long  before  the  opening  of  the  play.  His  meet- 
ing Cleopatra  was  his  doom.  The  desertion  of  Octavia  and 
the  Battle  of  Actium  are  but  incidents,  as  all  other  scenes 
of  the  play  are  but  incidents,  of  the  great  catastrophe. 
Shakespeare's  Antony  did  not  at  any  time  make  a  real 
decision  to  return :  he  always  found  himself  returned. 

Shakespeare  meant  this  whole  play  to  be  one  action. 
That  purpose  is  demonstrated  by  his  reserving  for  late 
introduction  what  would  in  a  less  well-considered  tragedy 
have  been  put  as  retrospective  narrative  at  the  beginning. 
It  is  not  until  Act  II,  Scene  2,  that  we  get  a  description 
of  how  Cleopatra  conquered  Antony.  Indeed,  the  play 
begins  in  the  midst  of  her  triumph,  and  we  see  the  lovers 
together ;  then  follows  their  separation ;  then  the  description 
of  how  she  won  him.  This  reserve  is  admirable.  The 
description  of  Cleopatra  in  the  very  midst  of  Antony's 
renewed  allegiance  with  Caesar  by  the  marriage  with 
Octavia  of  holy,  cold,  and  still  conversation,  makes  us  feel 
the  inevitableness  of  his  return  to  the  purser  up  of  hearts, 
with  her  "infinite  variety."  The  beginning  follows  the 
crisis.    We  do  not  need  to  see  the  moment  of  decision.    It 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  233 

was  there  before  the  separation.  The  first  Hnes  of  the  play 
gave  it  to  us.  Shakespeare  had  learned  from  his  own  book 
of  writings.  He  did  not  fall  into  the  mistake  of  dividing 
his  effect  between  two  climaxes. 

Freytag  seems  to  think  that  Shakespeare's  foregoing  of 
the  scene  was  because  of  a  lack  of  emotional  material  in  both 
Antony  and  Cleopatra.  I  think  not.  I  think  his  foregoing 
was  because  he  sought  climax  at  the  end  of  his  play.  There 
was  every  reason  why  the  lesson  of  "J^Hus  Caesar"  should 
be  immediately  in  mind.  I  do  not  believe  that  Freytag's 
secondary  explanation  is  true  either,  that  an  interest  of  the 
poet  in  Octavius  and  his  sister  as  representatives  of  bigger 
things,  a  world  order,  had  the  determining  weight.  Shake- 
speare had  been  reading  lately,  too,  in  the  mammoth  folio 
of  Elizabethan  drama,  and  had  scanned  again  the  record  of 
English  preference.  He  made  his  offering.  And  with  it,  he 
completes  the  circle  of  his  own  achievement  in  the  evolution 
of  points  of  structure.  He  had  adopted  the  catastrophe  at 
the  beginning  of  his  career.    Now  he  elaborates  it. 

He  gave  the  people  their  favorite  scene  in  its  highest 
form.  Death?  Yes.  Spectacle?  Yes.  Antony  falls  on 
his  sword  and  "quakes  and  stirs."  Then  think  of  the 
heaving  of  him  aloft  to  Cleopatra  in  the  monument!  Think 
of  the  clown  with  the  flowers  and  the  fruit !  The  queen  in 
her  gorgeous  robes  and  diadem !  The  attendant  women  with 
their  successive  leave-takings !  The  entrance  of  Caesar  and 
his  train !  And  yet  the  total  impression  is  not  of  spectacle 
and   surely   not  of  disunity.     Nothing  could   surpass  the 


234  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

gradual  heightening  of  the  catastrophe.  The  great  master 
is  here  presenting  a  great  tragedy  of  a  great  man — "the 
noble  ruin  of  her  magic." 

If  one  subtract  the  mechanical  incongruity  of  change  of 
scene,  the  total  incongruity  vanishes.  If  by  the  license  of 
the  stage  we  may  condense  into  three  hours  the  events  of 
twelve,  why  may  we  not  altogether  take  down  the  walls  of 
tim.e  and  space  and  see  tragedy  act  itself  out  there  and 
here,  then  and  now?  Such,  I  suppose,  was  the  subcon- 
scious reasoning  of  the  Elizabethan  authors.  And  they 
had  the  logic  of  the  situation !  There  is  no  adequate  reason 
why  they  should  have  narrowly  limited  the  imagination. 
There  was  on  the  Elizabethan  stage  little  mechanism  to 
render  difficult  a  change  of  scene.  "Antony  and  Cleopatra" 
could  be  offered  as  easily  as  "Lear."  When  one  takes  this 
fact  into  mind,  the  violations  are  nil.  There  has  been  much 
throwing  about  of  brains  in  the  condemnation,  but  the  trag- 
edy stands  free,  in  all  the  beauty  of  bold  construction — 
stands  more  for  the  future,  I  suspect,  than  the  past. 

In  the  presentation  of  this  action,  Shakespeare  shows 
himself  curiously  ahead  of  his  times  rather  than  behind 
them,  and  also  ahead  of  our  times  in  some  respects.  With- 
out being,  facetious  one  might  say  that  Shakespeare's 
"Antony  and  Cleopatra"  is  a  moving  picture  show  of  superb 
theatrical  effect  and  exquisite  poetic  accompaniment.  It 
reveals  a  conception  of  a  series  of  progressive  scenes  be- 
yond what  our  petty  mechanical  world  has  since  imagined. 
We  have  today  the  moving  pictures,  but  not  the  superb 
dramatic  conception;  and  we  have  the  written  accompani- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  235 

ment,  but  not  the  exquisite  poetry.  Imagine,  if  you  will, 
the  effect  on  the  artistic  consciousness  of  our  people  if,  in- 
stead of  the  vapid  subscriptions  now  displayed,  there  should 
appear  anything  comparable  to  this,  beneath  a  picture  com- 
parable to  the  one  these  lines  explain: 

Ant. — Dead,  then? 
Alar. — Dead. 

AnL~UmiTm,  Eros,  the  long  day's  task  is  done. 
And  we  must  sleep. 
Or  this: 

"Is  it  sin, 
To  rush  into  the  secret  house  of  death 
Ere  death  dare  come  to  us?" 

Or  yet  this : 

"Finish,   good  lady,  the  bright  day  is  done 
And  we  are  for  the  dark." 

We  must  not  mistake  the  fact  in  a  figure.  Naturally, 
Shakespeare  thought  nothing  of  machines,  and  we  would  not 
reduce  him  to  our  modern  cinematograph ;  but  we  would,  if 
we  could,  I  am  sure,  find  an  accompaniment  for  our  modern 
cinematograph  somewhere  near  the  height  of  the  scenes  and 
poetry  of  Shakespeare's  "Antony  and  Cleopatra,"  which  is 
— and  critics  may  be  reconciled  to  the  fact  as  a  prescience 
— moving  picture  drama  of  magnificent  conception  and 
tragic  beauty. 

"Coriolanus"  is  in  effect,  we  say,  a  summary  of  Shake- 
spearean tragic  structure  and  an  advance  in  philosophy. 
The  play  has  most  of  the  dramatist's  virtues  and  few  of 


236  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

his  faults.  The  action  is  evenly  balanced  and  regularly 
developed.  It  presents  a  double  material  rise  and  fall, 
with  a  continued  spiritual  misadjustment.  In  other  v^ords, 
it  presents  two  catastrophes  closely  bound  together  and  ex- 
plained by  a  prolonged  causal  catastrophe.  Although  the 
hero  ''shall  have  a  noble  memory,"  as  Aufidius  promised, 
yet  the  memory  will  always  be  one  of  moral  and  spiritual 
tragedy.  Coriolanus  fails  to  adjust  his  emotions  and  hence 
his  deeds  to  the  exigencies  of  the  times.  He  fails  twice 
over:  first  when  he  changes  his  right  deeds  to  wrong,  and 
second  when  he  changes  his  wrong  deeds  to  right — 'right' 
and  'wrong'  in  these  instances  signifying  the  opinion  of 
the  Roman  people. 

We  must  remind  ourselves  that  in  this  study  by  'moral' 
and  'spiritual'  tragedy  we  do  not  mean  anything  super- 
worldly.  The  matter  of  the  Hereafter,  Shakespeare  left  to 
the  theologians.  He  set  forth  only  the  tragedy  of  life.  Both 
in  "Hamlet"  and  "Macbeth"  he  let  his  protagonist  question 
the  great  future,  but  he  himself  made  no  answer.  The 
answer  of  "Coriolanus"  is  the  final  answer  so  far  as  the 
world  is  concerned,  and  is  this:  sometimes  when  we  do 
what  the  world  considers  wrong,  we  fail :  sometimes  when 
we  do  what  the  world  considers  right,  we  fail.  Success  or 
failure  does  not  lie  for  us,  however,  in  the  approbation  or 
disapproval  of  the  world,  but  in  the  entire  approval  of  our 
own  emotions  and  intellects.  When  one's  heart  is  divided, 
then  comes  tragic  struggle.  If  Coriolanus  had  really  despised 
the  approval  of  others  and  had  trusted  himself  alone  as  he 
pretended  he  trusted,  he  would  never  have  desired  the  con- 
sulship; and  if  he  had  been  as  superior  and  cold  as  he 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  237 

maintained  he  was,  he  would  not  have  yielded  to  his  private 
sentiments.  He  falls  both  times  because  of  wilful  misin- 
terpretation of  his  own  nature.  He  was  not  large  and 
public-spirited  as  he  set  himself  up  to  be — neither  for  Rome 
nor  against  Rome.  What  he  takes  for  virtue  and  worthi- 
ness in  himself  are  in  half  their  manifestations  self-centered 
pride  and  spiteful  choler. 

There  is  something  very  noble  in  despising  the  applause 
of  the  commonalty;  but  to  seek  the  reward  that  only  the 
commonalty  can  give,  and  at  the  same  time  contemn  the 
giver  and  discredit  the  gift  while  seeking  it,  and  to  appear 
to  consider  as  an  unwithholdable  right  what  can  actually 
be  got  only  as  a  free  offering  from  the  people — to  do  this 
is  surely  to  enter  upon  a  tragic  struggle  not  only  with  "the 
many-headed  beast"  but  with  oneself  at  the  same  time.  The 
picture  of  Coriolanus,  like  that  of  Lear  and  of  Timon,  is  not 
altogether  attractive — less  in  some  respects  than  either  of 
the  others — but  it  is  large  and  tragic.  The  zigzag  path  to 
disgrace  and  ruin  is  clear  cut.  The  figure  plunging  down 
it  is  commanding. 

The  spiritual  action  of  the  piece  is  unmistakable.  It  is 
catastrophe  from  the  first.  Coriolanus  is  his  own  "sick 
man,"  who  desires  most  that  which  increases  his  evil.  No 
one  could  misconceive  the  beginning.  A  worthy  man  is  to 
fall  because  of  his  unworthiness.  The  character-sketch  of 
him  that  the  First  Citizen  gives  is  coldly  correct.  It  lacks 
only  sympathetic  appreciation  of  what  is  really  noble  in 
Coriolanus — a  fearlessness  in  action  and  an  innate  prefer- 
ence for  deeds  rather  than  words.  This  sympathy  the  spec- 
tator gives  before  the  fall  is  done ;  but  a  critic  who  wishes 


238  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

to  understand  the  tragedy  should  not  miss  this  first  incisive 
sketch.  It  was  put  in  by  Shakespeare  for  a  directive  pur- 
pose. Together  with  the  Second  Citizen's  reply  it  forms 
the  keynote  of  the  entire  play. 

First  Cit. — I  say  unto  you,  what  he  hath  done  famously, 
he  did  it  to  that  end,  though  soft-conscienced  men  can 
be  content  to  say  it  was  for  his  country,  he  did  it  to 
please  his  mother  and  to  be  partly  proud;  which  he 
is,  even  to  the  altitude  of  his  virtue. 

Second  Cit. — What  he  can  not  help  in  his  nature,  you 
account  a  vice  in  him.  You  must  in  no  way  say  he 
is  covetous. 

Manifestly  what  Coriolanus  does  not  help  in  his  nature 
reacts  as  a  vice  in  him.  And  it  reacts  from  the  beginning. 
The  rise  that  the  protagonist  effects  each  time  is  patently 
but  a  swimming  with  fins  of  lead.  And  his  activities  for 
popularity  are  a  hewing  down  of  oaks  with  rushes. 

There  has  been  some  foolish  talk  to  the  effect  that  Shake- 
speare shows  contempt  for  the  common  people  in  this  play. 
Anyone  who  has  meditatively  read  the  opening  scene  can 
not  misunderstand.  It  is  Coriolanus's  contempt  that  is  set 
forth.  Moreover,  the  way  in  which  Coriolanus  indulges  his 
contempt  makes  tragedy.  What  truth  there  is  in  his  accusa- 
tions of  the  mob,  is  truth  for  everybody  and  for  all  ages. 
To  accuse  Shakespeare  of  pointed  disrespect  to  the  common 
people,  is  to  identify  him  with  Coriolanus.  One  might  as 
well  identify  him  with  Lear.  To  identify  him  with  any 
character  is  to  refuse  to  allow  his  imagination  free  play 
with  his  selected  material. 

It  is  clearly  evident  that  Shakespeare  set  out  to  put  upon 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  239 

the  boards  a  tragedy  of  spirit,  not  a  lesson  in  morals,  nor  a 
moral  lesson,  but  a  representation  of  the  misadjustment  to 
living  of  an  imperious  character.  Even  the  little  that  the 
dramatist  changed  his  historical  material  shows  indisputa- 
bly, I  think,  what  had  come  to  be  his  idea  of  a  tragic  action. 

The  choice  itself  of  Coriolanus  partly  reveals  the  idea :  for 
there  is  nothing  despicable,  or  loose,  or  licentious,  or  crimi- 
nal, or  insane,  about  Coriolanus.  He  is  more  normal  than 
any  of  Shakespeare's  other  late  tragic  heroes ;  and  yet  he  is 
tragic.  To  some  readers,  he  seems  the  most  tragic ;  because 
he  most  wilfully  pulls  down  disaster  on  his  own  head.  There 
was  no  need  of  such  a  tragic  end,  except  the  need  of 
Coriolanus's  disposition.  His  desire  for  preferment  was 
compelling,  but  the  kind  he  sought  was  impossible  for  him. 
He  could  not  have  held  it  if  he  had  got  it,  and  he  could  not 
get  it,  though  so  far  as  mere  merit  of  deed  went,  he 
deserved  it. 

Shakespeare  omits  and  selects  so  as  to  increase  the  im- 
pression of  the  willfulness  of  the  protagonist:  for  instance, 
Plutarch  says  that  when  Coriolanus  understood  that  his  con- 
tinued despite  of  the  rabble  would  prejudice  the  safety  of 
the  other  patricians,  upon  a  pledge  from  the  tribunes  that 
they  would  accuse  him  of  only  one  thing — designing  to 
establish  arbitrary  government — he  voluntarily  submitted  to 
trial  and  offered  himself  for  whatever  punishment  might  be 
inflicted  provided  only  that  the  tribunes  would  keep  faith 
with  the  senate.  They  did  not,  of  course,  and  Coriolanus. 
being  unprepared  with  an  answer  to  their  attack,  said  the 
wrong  thing,  and  was  banished.  Now,  in  the  great  scenes 
that  Shakespeare  imagines  and  puts  for  the  third  act  of 


240  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

his  play,  the  intolerance  and  insolence  of  Coriolanus  are 
not  bated  one  jot  for  the  sake  of  Rome  and  the  patricians ; 
but  for  the  sake  only  of  his  mother  does  he  start  back  to  the 
market  place  with  a  promise  to  speak  more  humbly. 

Again,  Plutarch  has  Valeria  appear  only  in  the  second 
half  of  the  stor}*.  There  she,  with  other  women  of  Rome, 
makes  a  visit  to  Volumnia  and  begs  her  to  intercede  for  the 
city.  The  inspiration  as  to  how  to  save  the  people  and  the 
honor  of  the  result  belong  therefore  to  her  and  the  other 
women,  and  entail  a  little  episode  in  the  narrative,  wherein 
the  women  as  a  reward  for  their  wisdom  are  allowed  to 
build  at  public  expense  a  temple  to  the  Feminine  Disposer  of 
Fortune.  In  an  early  chronicle  play  all  this  episode  would 
have  been  duly  presented ;  but  Shakespeare  not  only  omits 
it,^  but  to  secure  better  the  unity  of  the  action  of  his  drama, 
he  introduces  the  ladies  early  and  makes  Valeria's  part 
entirely  subsidiary  throughout.  He  uses  her  only  to  make 
plain  Volumnia's  character.  He  gives  the  announcing  of 
how  to  save  the  city  to  the  well-tried  and  otherwise  busy 
Cominius,  and  drops  the  necessary  preparatory  hint  casually, 
as  it  were.  This  change  results  in  reducing  the  number  of 
prominent  characters  and  helps  keep  the  interest  centered 
on  Coriolanus. 

Volumnia  herself,  in  truth,  is  very  circumspecth"  held 
down  as  a  secondary  character  for  the  sake  of  unity  and 
clarity  of  action.  Her  early  introduction  serves  the  same 
end  as  her  subordination ;  for  had  she  come  upon  the  stage 
in  all  her  power  only  in  the  second  half  of  the  play,  her 

1  He  reduces  it  to  an  allusion  in  Coriolanus'  speech :  "Ladies,  you 
deserve  to  have  a  temple  built  you,"  (V,  iii,  206-7). 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  241 

novelty  and  prominence  would  have  tended  to  split  the  action 
in  two;  for  if  she  were  not  introduced  earlier,  much  time 
would  have  needed  to  be  spent  on  her  in  the  second  half  of 
the  play  in  order  to  make  her  part  explicable,  and  the  expan- 
sion would  have  resulted  in  a  slow  movement  somewhat  like 
that  of  the  Malcolm-Macduff  scenes  in  "Macbeth."  Or,  if 
she  were  treated  another  way,  if  character-development  of 
her  were  neglected  for  the  sake  of  rapidity  in  both  halves 
of  the  play,  the  spectator  would  have  been  likely  to  mis- 
understand Coriolanus's  feelings  at  the  time  of  the  great 
change  in  his  deeds  that  precipitates  the  catastrophe.  Like 
the  "soft-conscienced"  people,  which  the  First  Citizen  talks 
about,  the  spectator  might  have  thought  that  Coriolanus  did 
what  he  did  for  the  mere  sake  of  mercy  or  through  repentJ- 
ant  love  for  his  country. 

Shakespeare  was  careful  to  introduce  in  the  first  half  of 
the  play  all  the  important  characters  of  the  second  half,  a 
provision  that  lessens  the  possibility  of  a  misunderstanding. 
Even  Aufidius  is  thoroughly  brought  out  in  Act  I  in  scenes 
supplementary  to  the  original  narrative.  Both  his  great 
ability  and  Coriolanus's  esteem  of  him  are  emphasized  so 
that  the  subsequent  relationship  of  the  two  rivals  shall 
appear  reasonable. 

These  changes  that  Shakespeare  made  from  the  original, 
though  in  some  respects  slight,  are  extremely  important. 
They  heighten  the  responsibility  of  the  hero.  What  con- 
tempt there  is  of  the  common  people — and  there  is  a  great 
contempt — is  part  and  parcel  of  the  tragedy.  An  inquiry 
as  to  how  many  of  the  utterances  may  be  Shakespeare's 
opinion   is   quite  aside   from  an   appreciation  of   the  play. 


242  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

This  is  not  a  pessimistic  drama.  If,  on  the  one  hand, 
Shakespeare  is  not  necessarily  here  to  be  considered  as  vent- 
ing any  spleen  either  on  life  or  on  the  commonalty  in  his 
setting  forth  a  tragic  character,  on  the  other  hand  he  is  not 
to  be  considered  as  delivering  a  sermon  on  the  blessings  of 
democracy,  or  on  the  horror  of  carrying  war  against  one's 
native  city.  The  play  is  a  tragedy  of  spirit  and  represents 
the  catastrophe  inherent  in  the  way  of  doing  things  and 
omitting  to  do  things.  Moreover,  this  is  not  a  pathetic 
drama.  Shakespeare  is  not  "soft  conscienced."  He  is  not 
asking  your  pity  for  Coriolanus,  but  your  understanding 
of  his  tragic  constitution.  Coriolanus  fell,  not  through  his 
mercy  or  patriotism  or  a  chance  conjunction  of  affairs ;  he 
made  the  conjunction  himself,  and  he  fell  through  the  in- 
exorable laws  of  his  own  disposition. 

Any  thinking  man  may  know  how  a  mob  will  act  under 
certain  conditions.  The  result  is  not  problematic,  but  is 
one  of  the  facts  of  the  world.  But  Coriolanus  was  not  a 
thinking  man.  To  refuse  to  reckon  on  bad  results  when 
the  conditions  are  plainly  bad  is  to  pull  disaster  down  upon 
oneself  with  one's  own  blind  foolishness.  'Tray  be  coun- 
sell'd,"  says  his  mother, 

"I  have  a  heart  as  little  apt  as  yours. 
But  yet  a  brain  that  leads  my  use  of  anger 
To  better  vantage." 

The  combination  of  a  stout  nature,  proud  heart,  and 
small  judgment  spells  'solitariness';  but  when  possessed 
by  one  who  is  ruled  by  an  unquenchable  lust  for  prefer- 
ment in  a  time  that  requires  great  caution  and  tolerance 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  243 

on  the  part  of  all  who  would  lead,  the  combination  spells 
inevitable  failure.  Shakespeare  carefully  sets  forth  the 
times  as  well  as  his  hero  and  thus  makes  the  moral  and 
spiritual  tragedy  clear. 

This  setting  forth  of  the  times  occupies  what  may  be 
called  the  first  and  second  "rise"  of  the  action — the  rise  in 
dramatic  activities.  Shakespeare  had  always  recognized 
the  English  preference  for  activity  on  the  stage.  He  gave 
it  in  "Lear"  as  an  underplot ;  in  "Macbeth"  as  devised  spec- 
tacle ;  in  "Antony  and  Cleopatra"  as  multiplicity  of  changing 
and  gorgeous  scenes.  "Coriolanus"  affords  no  underplot 
and  no  spectacle,  and  there  appears  to  be  an  attempt  to 
reduce  the  number  of  changes  of  scene.  The  liveliness 
comes  from  the  presence  of  a  crowd,  which  is  especially 
legitimate  in  such  a  play,  and  from  the  presented  soldierly 
activities  of  the  protagonist  in  the  capture  of  Corioli  and  in 
the  personal  combat  with  Aufidius.  These  two  war  scenes 
are  brought  together  as  successive.  In  the  original,  as  we 
noticed  before,  Aufidius  is  not  mentioned  until  after  the 
banishment.  His  introduction  in  the  first  half  serves  two 
purposes:  liveliness  and  unity — a  natural  and  an  acquired 
excellence  in  Elizabethan  drama. 

The  material  action  early  runs  up  to  the  proclaiming  of 
Marcius  as  Coriolanus,  Act  I,  Scene  9,  while  the  spiritual 
action  drops  down  to  a  particular  misadjustment  when 
Coriolanus  refuses  to  allow  spontaneous  praise  of  him  by 
the  mouths  of  the  common  soldiers  in  "acclamations  hyper- 
bolical." Heretofore  the  pride  of  Marcius  has  been  general, 
and  expressed  in  general  denouncements  of  the  general 
foolishness  of  the  people ;  but  now  his  hauteur  and  disdain 


244  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

become  particular  in  reference  to  his  own  deserts.  He  is 
commendably  proud  in  not  wishing  so  much  as  one-tenth  of 
the  spoils  in  reward  for  his  services,  but  he  comes  near  to 
insulting"  his  commander,  when  in  refusal,  he  calls  the 
offer  "a  bribe"  to  pay  his  sword;  and  when  with  male- 
dictions he  peremptorily  stops  the  honest  shouts  of  the 
soldiers,  and  implies  that  they  are  all  hypocrites,  he  goes 
too  far,  as  the  wise  Cominius  tells  him : 

"Too  modest  are  you ; 
More  cruel  to  your  good  report  than  grateful 
To  us  that  give  you  truly." 

Act  I,  then,  completed  with  its  ten  scenes,  serves  as  an 
introduction  of  the  characters  of  all  the  personages,  a  first 
step  in  the  material  rise  of  the  protagonist,  and  as  the  key- 
note of  the  spiritual  tragedy  with  a  first  definite  drop  in 
descent. 

Act  II  serves  as  the  second  step  in  the  rise  up  to  the  first 
catastrophe.  The  people  promise  to  make  the  hero  consul. 
It  is  the  peculiar  excellence  of  this  drama  that  the  protago- 
nist rises  to  his  catastrophe  each  time.  Shakespeare  has 
conquered  here  the  virtue  he  seems  to  have  been  in  pursuit 
of  since  the  writing  of  "Lear" ;  namely,  to  be  able  to  pre- 
serve the  interest  of  the  spectator  with  some  sort  of  rise  and 
yet  at  the  same  time  convey  the  general  impression  of  a 
falling  action  with  increased  intensity.  By  'rise'  here,  we 
mean  that  the  protagonist  succeeds  in  getting  into  a  kind 
of  harmony  with  other  people,  though  it  is  not  a  spiritual 
harmony,  and  succeeds  partially  in  carrying  out  his  wishes. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  245 

Act  III  presents  the  first  catastrophe — the  crisis-catastro- 
phe, as  it  were — the  entire  break  with  the  Romans. 
Coriolanus  goes  so  far  as  to  start  to  resist  with  a  sword 
the  representatives  of  public  order.  At  last  as  a  compro- 
mise between  further  trial  and  instant  death,  he  is  banished. 
Coriolanus  succeeds  only  partially,  we  say,  for  the  people 
reject  him  after  he  proves  that  he  can  not  do  what  he  has 
set  out  to  do — humble  himself  before  them.  The  crisis- 
deed  of  Coriolanus  is,  therefore,  not  completed.  Nothing 
results  from  the  will  of  Coriolanus  but  his  disappointment. 
He  does  not  succeed  in  becoming  consul  and  overbearing 
the  populace,  as  Brutus  succeeded  in  ridding  the  state  of 
Caesar,  or  as  Hamlet  in  finally  getting  his  revenge,  or  as 
Othello  in  killing  those  whom  he  thought  he  had  a  right 
to  kill.  Coriolanus  is  more  like  Lear,  enraged  because  of 
circumstances  and  venting  his  spite  in  words.  He  is  much 
like  Antony  in  reaping  the  aversion  of  his  native  city,  in 
slipping  down  from  a  place  of  honor  and  service  in  her 
behalf  to  one  of  leadership  of  a  foreign  foe.  But  Corio- 
lanus is  most  like  Antony  and  Lear  in  not  being  able  to  get 
the  better  of  his  disposition.  His  pride  on  the  one  hand 
and  his  intense  anger  on  the  other  control  him.  He  is,  like 
Lear  and  Antony,  a  doomed  man  from  the  beginning.  Re- 
action is  on  him  all  the  time.  He  wishes  to  be  pre-eminent, 
but  his  spirit  elicts  dislike  and  final  repudiation.  One  can 
not  be  pre-eminent  politically  without  the  allegiance  of  the 
voters.  The  populace  was  the  voters.  Coriolanus  hated 
and  openly  despised  the  populace.  He  went  furthest  in 
expression  when  he  should  have  been  most  humble.  His 
mother  sums  up  his  crisis  thus : 


246  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Vol. —  O  son,  son,  son ! 

I  would  have  had  you  put  your  power  well  on, 
Before  you  had  worn  it  out. 

Cor. —  Let  go. 

Vol. — You  might  have  been  enough  the  man  you  are 
With   striving  less  to  be  so:    lesser  had  been 
The  thwarting  of  your  dispositions,  if 
You  had  not  show'd  them  how  you  were  dispos'd, 
Ere  they  lack'd  power  to  cross  you. 

These  first  scenes  of  Act  III  are  a  true  mental  crisis  for 
the  protagonist.  When  he  goes  back  to  try  his  humility 
for  a  second  time,  he  discovers  himself  to  himself.  He 
sees  whether  the  people  respect  him  more  or  hate  him  more, 
whether  he  loves  his  country  more  or  himself  more.  In 
his  talk  with  his  mother  he  likewise  reveals  to  the  audience 
her  power  over  him.  This  is  a  transition  scene  (III,  2) 
to  the  emphasis  of  the  mental  crisis,  and,  while  it  leads 
to  that  emphasis,  it  very  appropriately  also  prepares  for  the 
final  catastrophe.  This  transition  scene  has  in  it  the  mot  de 
situation : 

Men. —  Ay,  mildly. 

Cor. — Well,  mildly  be  it  then.     Mildly ! 

As  in  "Antony  and  Cleopatra"  the  crisis-deed  is  not 
shown  at  all,  so  in  the  true  sense  there  is  no  crisis-deed 
in  "Coriolanus ;"  for  in  both  these  plays  the  tragic  fact  is 
the  more  disposition  of  the  protagonist  than  his  deeds. 
Antony's  nature,  the  destructive  element  in  it,  was  exactly 
complementary  to  Cleopatra's  being,  and  the  mere  fact  of 
his  ever  coming  near  to  her  was  his  ruin,  not  any  *geo- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  247 

graphical'  return  he  might  make.  He  reverted  to  her  more 
than  once  without  wilHng  to  do  so.  Phitarch  makes  this 
phenomenon  very  plain,  and  Shakespeare  has  unerringly 
follov^ed  Plutarch.  Moreover,  the  dramatist  did  not  pro- 
pose to  tell  us  a  simple  love-story,  nor  yet  one  wherein 
jealousy  of  two  women  could  set  the  world  by  the  ears. 
He  designed  to  present  the  tragedy,  not  of  All  for  Love, 
nor  the  World  Well  Lost,  but  of  the  reciprocal  destructive- 
ness  of  personalities.  So  with  Coriolanus,  the  tragedy— 
and  hence  the  crisis — is  not  the  destructiveness  of  deed,  but 
the  reciprocal  destructiveness  of  disposition  and  opportunity. 
Coriolanus's  disposition  was  exactly  set  to  rebound  with 
tremendous  harshness  upon  the  least  irritation  by  the  crowd. 
The  mere  fact  of  his  attempting  personally  to  plead  with  the 
people  for  himself  was  his  ruin. 

The  crisis-emphasis  presents  the  face-to-face  struggle  of 
the  opposing  parties — Coriolanus  and  the  people.  It  is 
extremely  fortunate  for  the  unity  of  the  drama  that  the 
mother  in  the  transition  prefigures  her  part  as  representa- 
tive of  the  people  later  and  helps  form  the  tragic  incident. 
The  tragic  turn  of  this  emphasis  becomes  a  turn  down  as 
well  as  an  arrest — a  semi-catastrophe:  semi,  because  the 
protagonist  is  not  killed ;  but  catastrophe,  because  the  larger 
part  of  his  life  is  ended.    His  Roman  Hfe  is  done. 

In  the  sense  in  which  this  action  is  a  falling  action,  the 
beginning  of  the  play  is  the  beginning  of  the  reaction.  The 
people  at  once  show  their  resentment  against  Coriolanus  and 
propose  to  kill  him.  Hence  in  all  the  conflicts  of  Marcius 
with  them  there  is  the  under-current  of  that  resolve.  Like- 
wise,   the    great    man's    contempt    for    them — for    their 


248  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

pusillanimity  and  greed  and  fickleness — is  sharply  empha- 
sized. Accordingly  not  the  banishment  (that  is  a  surprise), 
but  the  final  catastrophe  is  what  is  continuously  awaited. 
We  know,  on  analyzing  our  feelings  that  we  did  not,  from 
the  first,  expect  the  candidacy  for  consulship  to  succeed. 
We  expected  the  killing.  "Let  us  kill  him."  "Is  it  a  ver- 
dict ?"  "Let  it  be  done !"  "Against  him  first :  he  is  a  very 
dog  to  the  commonalty."  These  are  the  expressions  that 
we  have  heard  and  have  had  in  our  consciousness  from  the 
beginning.  When  Coriolanus  is  not  killed,  but  banished, 
every  on-looker  feels  the  scene  to  be  not  the  completion  of 
expectation,  but  only  the  arrest  of  it.  The  expectation  is 
Coriolanus's  death.  The  action  leads,  therefore,  through 
the  catastrophe-arrest  to  the  end  of  the  play.  These  scenes 
are,  however,  for  the  protagonist  a  true  psychic  crisis  and 
crisis-emphasis. 

Act  IV  is  a  continuation  of  the  tragic  emphasis,  in  that 
it  reviews  the  past  and  sets  the  action  on  the  rise  definitely 
toward  the  final  catastrophe.  Scene  i  emphasizes  the 
'solitariness'  of  the  protagonist's  temper.  Even  in  his  mis- 
fortune he  would  stand  alone.  He  refuses  all  companion- 
ship. Scene  2  continues  the  emphasis  with  an  old-fashioned 
lamentation  and  railing  scene  of  the  women.  During  the 
giving  and  taking  of  insults,  one  of  the  tribunes  in  an  in- 
sincere wish  states  again  the  real  action  of  the  part  of  the 
tragedy  that  is  past  and  strikes  the  keynote  of  the  rest 
that  is  coming: 

"I  would  he  had  continued  to  his  country 
As  he  began,  and  not  unknit  himself 
The  noble  knot  he  made." 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  249 

Scene  3  is  a  connecting  scene ;  and  Scene  4  is  the  great  scene 
of  the  compact  between  Coriolanus  and  Aufidius,  wherein 
the  whole  spirit  of  Caius  Marcius  Coriolanus  is  brought 
out — his  exulting  satisfaction  in  his  past  deeds,  his  personal 
bravery,  his  confidence  and  pride  in  himself  at  all  times 
regardless  of  others,  his  thirst  for  preeminence,  his  chagrin, 
his  spite,  his  daring  hope  of  revenge.  Aufidius  is  brought 
out,  too,  but  quite  clearly  as  a  character  secondary  to  the 
protagonist.  Shakespeare  does  not  make  here  the  mistake 
he  made  with  Antony  in  "J^^^^s  Caesar."  Aufidius  is  the 
reconciled  bodily  antagonist  that  is  to  be  once  more  later 
the  final  antagonist,  and  is  to  win,  but  he  never  for  an  instant 
overshadows  Coriolanus,  except  in  humble  generosity. 

The  necessarily  somewhat  slow  movement  of  the  con- 
ference scene  is  quickened  by  the  excellent  device  of  a 
banquet,  which  the  historical  source  by  one  or  two  words 
affords  Shakespeare  the  opportunity  of  introducing.  Only, 
this  time,  in  accordance  with  the  hints  of  the  narrative, 
the  banquet  is  placed  behind  the  scenes,  and  it  is  the  coming 
and  going  of  the  servingmen  that  the  audience  witnesses. 
Their  talk  furnishes  the  necessary  information  and  the 
favorite  Elizabethan  comic  relief.  The  tragi-comic  scenes  in 
''Macbeth"  have  been  the  subject  of  much  controversy ;  but 
those  in  "Coriolanus"  go  unquestioned  for  two  reasons  :  they 
are  not  out  of  tone  with  serious  drama,  are  a  relief  from 
great  tension  as  the  accompaniment  of  it.  Aufidius  invites 
Coriolanus  in  friendship  into  the  banquet. 

The  change  of  Aufidius  later  is  occasioned  inevitably  by 
Coriolanus's  innate  'solitariness.'  Coriolanus  both  by  habit 
and  nature  can  not  share.    He  always  usurps.    This  usurpa- 


250  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

tion  with  its  result  to  Rome  and  its  result  to  Coriolanus, 
together  with  his  death,  occupies  Act  V. 

The  less  honorable  treachery  of  Aufidius  is  in  a  material 
sense  a  reaction  of  the  more  honorable  treachery  of  Corio- 
lanus. Aufidius,  however,  is  but  a  technical  antagonist  to 
bring  to  death  the  protagonist.  The  real  antagonist  in  the 
spiritual  action  is  the  Roman  people;  or,  better,  Volumnia 
representing  the  Roman  people;  or,  better  still,  human  na- 
ture. Coriolanus  was  superior  to  all  but  his  mother  and 
his  native  impulse  of  obedience  to  her.  He  had  wilfully 
brought  about  a  situation  in  which  his  mother  and  his  native 
impulse  counted  toward  his  spirit  as  opposing  forces.  He 
could  not  but  lose:  they  outweighed  not  only  revenge  but 
honor  pledged,  repledged,  and  boasted  of.  Act  V  accord- 
ingly brings  to  an  end  what  is  really  a  spiritual  tragedy — 
a  misfit  of  mind  and  heart  to  deeds  attempted.  This  tragedy 
presents  revenge,  but  very  much  changed  in  spirit.  Still 
ugly,  but  how  little  ugly,  when  it  begins  with  such  noble 
sentiments  as  the  forgiveness  and  admiration  of  each  other, 
by  the  two  greatest  warriors  of  the  time — each  noble  when 
the  other  is  not  there,  both  nobler  when  together!  How 
little  ugly,  when  it  closes  with  a  remarkable  scene  of  high- 
est deference  to  a  mother!  Coriolanus  is  once  more  like 
Lear  in  that  though  he  pays  the  full  penalty,  he  does  not 
seem  to  be  conquered,  and  his  wrath  seems  not  to  be  given 
up  but  simply  to  melt  away  in  the  presence  of  the  one  he 
loves.  Shakespeare  has  twice  enshrined  this  most  beautiful 
of  all  sentiments,  the  love  between  parent  and  child. 

There  is  a  secondary  arrest  of  the  catastrophe  in  Act  V, 
Scene  3,  just  after  the  close  of  Coriolanus's  speech  to  his 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  251 

mother.  Aufidius  acknowledges  having  been  moved  withal. 
But  Coriolanus  suddenly  ends  the  brief  respite  by  volun- 
teering to  Aufidius  the  startling  assurance 

"I'll  not  to  Rome.    I'll  back  with  you  ;  and  pray  you 
Stand  to  me  in  this  cause.'  (11.  198-199.) 

This  announcement  and  request  are  a  distinct  surprise  and 
practically  end  whatever  hope  there  may  have  existed  for 
Coriolanus's  safe  return  to  Rome,  and  they  start  a  new 
minor  suspense.  By  the  words  **this  cause,"  Coriolanus 
means  his  justification  before  the  leading  men  of  Corioli. 
Aufidius  is  the  chief  of  those  leading  men,  however,  and 
he  announces  immediately  his  attitude  as  hostile  for  the 
future ;  but  when  Coriolanus  appears  to  speak  to  the  lords, 
the  audience  yet  hopes  that  he  will  be  successful.  With 
Aufidius's  word  "traitor"  the  hope  vanishes.  This  little 
incident,  necessary  to  the  story,  forms  in  a  way  a  final 
small  suspense. 

The  whole  drama  is  really,  however,  an  example  of  a 
suspended  catastrophe,  as  is  "Antony  and  Cleopatra." 
Coriolanus  is  a  much  better  piece  of  work  from  the  point 
of  view  of  a  drama  to  be  spoken  and  acted  on  a  bare  stage. 
It  has  a  lively  series  of  events  for  the  groundwork  of  the 
scenes,  and  a  positive  protagonist,  who  "builds  up"  his 
catastrophe  immediately  before  the  eyes  of  the  spectator. 
That  is,  while  the  direction  of  the  spiritual  action  is  fixed 
from  the  beginning  and  is  indisputably  down,  the  protago- 
nist, nevertheless,  moves  forward  lustily  on  the  upward 
slope  of  destruction.  The  first  catastrophe,  or  the  "crisis- 
catastrophe,"  as  we  have  called  it,  is  therefore  really  an  en- 
larged arrest  of  the  final  catastrophe. 


252  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

This  drama  may  from  one  point  of  view  be  considered 
an  example  of  the  expansion  of  the  principal  points  of  the 
structure  of  a  falling  action,  as  "Othello"  may  be  con- 
sidered the  expansion  of  the  points  of  a  rising  action. 
Coriolanus's  greatest  activity  in  deeds  is  at  the  opening  of 
the  play;  Othello's,  at  the  close.  The  middle  scene  of 
the  "Othello"  action  is  the  definite  entrance  of  the  exciting 
force  into  the  mind  of  the  protagonist;  the  middle  in 
"Coriolanus"  is  the  definite  arrest  of  the  catastrophe.  The 
highest  tension  in  the  "Othello"  occurs  in  the  scene  of  the 
crisis-deed,  which  is  closely  joined  with  the  final  scene; 
the  highest  tension  in  the  "Coriolanus"  is  connected  with  the 
catastrophe-deed.  In  a  large  sense,  this  whole  play  is  the 
reaction  of  Coriolanus's  spirit  upon  himself.  No  one  deed 
can  mark  the  beginning  of  a  spiritual  tragedy ;  hence  here, 
instead,  are  offered  the  lively  activities  of  accomplishment 
in  which  the  protagonist  plainly  shows  his  tragic  spirit  again 
and  again. 

Macbeth  fell  into  moral  tragedy  through  mental  misad- 
justment.  He  argued  that  since  he  could  carry  through  an 
assassination  and  not  be  called  to  account  by  his  fellow- 
men,  he  could  continue  undisturbed  in  peaceful  possession 
of  the  benefits.  He  failed  to  take  into  consideration  his  own 
mental  make-up,  which  was  at  variance  with  the  course  he 
set  out  upon.  He  was  a  timid  man  and  he  should  have 
acknowledged  the  fact  and  not  been  led  awav  bv  his  ambi- 
tion  in  the  person  of  his  fearless  wife.  One's  mind  reacts 
"after  its  kind"  at  all  critical  periods,  but  Macbeth  did  not 
reckon  on  the  fact.    He  was  surprised  by  his  own  reaction. 

So  Coriolanus  fell  into  moral  tragedy  through  spiritual 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  253 

misadjustment  to  his  times.  He  argued  that  because  of  his 
personal  bravery  in  combats  which  pleased  the  Roman  peo- 
ple, he  could  carry  through  an  election  to  a  civic  preferment 
that  required  great  restraint  of  spirit.  But  he  did  not  pro- 
ceed so  far  even  as  Macbeth.  Coriolanus's  first  catastrophe 
results  from  his  inability  to  restrain  his  spirit,  and  his  sec- 
ond, from  his  persistent  indulgence  of  that  spirit  in  a  strange 
use  of  military  prowess.  At  last  he  is  in  utter  confusion 
morally.  Coriolanus  falls  in  an  immediate  conflict  of  honor 
with  honor,  honorable  honor  with  dishonorable  honor ;  but 
he  falls  primarily  and  fundamentally  through  contempt  for 
the  common  people.  He  did  not  think  that  contempt  of  the 
common  people  could  transform  itself  in  his  life  into  a 
struggle  of  honor  with  honor,  a  turmoil  within  his  own 
heart.  But  it  so  transformed  itself.  His  spiritual  misad- 
justment to  the  course  he  undertook  is  as  clearly  evident  in 
the  second  half  of  the  play  as  in  the  first.  The  two  halves 
are  one,  through  a  skillful  welding  together  of  the  successive 
activities  by  careful  selection  and  omission  from  the  narra- 
tive source  and  by  a  continued  demonstration  and  emphasis 
of  the  tragic  idea.  Dramatic  climax  is  present  in  the  rela- 
tion the  two  catastrophes  bear  to  each  other:  that  of  cause 
and  eilect,  or  that  of  successive  and  cumulative  effects  of 
the  same  cause.  In  other  words,  increasingly  intense  and 
continued  eventuation  of  character  into  failure  is  the  action 
of  the  "Coriolanus"  tragedy.  Naturally  and  easily,  there- 
fore, it  presents  climax  in  a  falling  action.  Shakespeare 
had  been  gradually  approaching  this  achievement  since  the 
writing  of  ''Lear." 


Chapter  XII 

Structure 

At  the  risk  of  tiresome  repetition  let  me  acknowledge  once 
more  that  the  technic  of  drama  is  hardly  more  than  a  set 
of  terms.  But  so  is  any  other  science,  or  theory  of  phe- 
nomena, almost  merely  a  set  of  terms.  When  the  terms 
are  once  understood  and  the  phenomena  represented  by  them 
recognized,  then  the  body  of  knowledge  is  complete.  What 
remains  is  application,  or  practice.  The  terms  used  in  this 
book  are,  I  trust,  self-explanatory.  The  object  of  the  study 
has  been  to  set  forth  the  phenomena  that  gave  rise  to  the 
modern  theory  of  the  structure  of  a  drama,  such  a  theory, 
for  instance,  as  Freytag  maintains,  such  a  theory  as  has 
been  outlined  in  the  introduction  of  this  book  as  the  com- 
mon property  of  all  playgoers.  Now,  if  the  points  of  struc- 
ture that  we  pretend  to  find  in  Elizabethan  drama  be  any- 
thing worth  while,  be  anything  essential,  they  must  be  found 
in  all  good  plays,  ancient,  modern,  and  Elizabethan. 

We  have  studied  here  only  the  Elizabethan;  but  we  re- 
member that  the  Greeks  had  a  theory  of  playwriting,  and 
nobody  disputes  that  the  moderns  have  one.  A  more  or  less 
common  technic  develops  and  is  operative  as  a  theory, 
whether  acknowledged  or  not,  in  every  age  wherein  the 
drama  flourishes.  In  literature,  antecedents  have  a  deter- 
mining influence  on  consequents  whether  the  antecedents 

254 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  255 

be  invariable  or  not.  General  likeness  serves  in  this  field 
for  invariability.  Some  persons  have  talked  as  if  they 
thought  that  each  Elizabethan  worked  in  ignorance  of  ante- 
cedents and  wrote  absolutely  by  caprice,  creating  literature 
blindly.  Such  was  not  the  case.  Although  quickly  devel- 
oped, Elizabethan  literature  was  nevertheless  developed. 
There  is  a  great  difference  between  the  tentative  lyrics  of 
Wyatt  and  Surrey  and  the  finished  sonnets  of  Shakespeare, 
between  the  primitive  situations  of  "Cambyses"  and  the 
thrilling  scenes  of  ''Macbeth";  the  difference,  however,  is 
one  not  of  kind  but  of  degree,  one  of  attention  and  gradu- 
ated development  through  forty  years  or  more.  A  close 
relationship  exists  between  the  first  and  the  last  play,  a 
relationship  made  close  by  intervening  steps  in  technic. 
"Tancred  and  Gismunda"  and  "Othello"  are  both  Italianate 
dramas,  but  the  difference  in  the  two  tragedies  is  not  a  dif- 
ference that  came  to  existence  in  Italy  and  Italian  literature. 
The  difference  came  to  existence  in  England  and  in  the 
minds  of  English  playwrights.  By  1604  an  English 
dramatist  had  learned  how  to  construct  a  tragedy  at  once 
lively  and  unified.  We  have  traced  in  the  plays  themselves 
the  evidence  of  a  growing  knowledge  of  technic,  and  have 
watched  the  emphasis  shift  from  on6  point  to  another  until 
a  whole  beautiful  structure,  under  the  control  of  a  com- 
pletely evolved  philosophic  idea,  was  full  in  consciousness. 
It  may  not  be  amiss  to  review  now  with  liberal  definitions 
the  points  as  they  appeared. 

In  the  medieval  miracle  and  morality  plays  Elizabethan 
audiences  became  accustomed  to  seeing,  and  priestly  and 
secular  dramatists  became  accustomed  to  presenting,  situ- 


256  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

ation  and  spectacle  making  a  strong  emotional  appeal.  The 
situation  best  liked  in  serious  plays  was  one  of  torture  and 
death.  With  the  imitation  of  Senecan  drama  came  a  reali- 
zation of  the  advantage  of  a  dominating  motive ;  and  with 
the  great  popularity  of  Tamburlaine  and  the  Jew  of  Malta, 
following  close  upon  the  popularity  of  Hieronimo,  there  was 
forced  upon  every  homely  mother-wit  the  consciousness  of 
the  unmistakable  superiority  of  plays  with  emphasized 
protagonists  to  plays  without  them.  The  chief  struggler  and 
his  supreme  passion  must  thereafter  be  clear  in  all  likable 
dramas.  With  the  advent  of  Shakespeare's  keen  mind  and 
facile  pen  there  came  into  Elizabethan  playwriting  a  forma- 
tive power  that  was  destined  not  only  to  make  Elizabethan 
drama  an  artistic  thing  but  to  remake  and  complete  the 
world's  conception  of  tragic  action. 

Shakespeare  accepted  the  Marlowesque  play  and  set  about 
improving  it.  To  the  idea  of  the  emphasized  protagonist  he 
added  that  of  the  emphasized  antagonist  and  a  tragic  strug- 
gle between  them.  That  this  struggle  should  end  disastrously 
for  the  protagonist  Shakespeare  seems  to  have  considered 
an  indisputable  convention.  He  adopted  it  and  finally  spent 
his  most  beautiful  poetry  upon  it.  Greek  tragedy  had  never 
held  to  this  idea,  nor  indeed  had  Senecan.  But  no  soul- 
wracked  Shakespearean  protagonist  goes  forth  alive.  None 
goes  forth  maimed  and  blind.  They  all  sin,  they  all  strug- 
gle, they  all  die.  It  is  not  the  sin  or  not  the  dying,  however, 
that  makes  the  Shakespearean  protagonist  of  absorbing  in- 
terest: it  is  the  struggle.  Through  that  shows  forth  the 
tragedy.  We  have  seen  how  the  idea  of  what  is  tragic  devel- 
oped in  Shakespeare's  mind  from  the  popular  conception  of 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  257 

the  villainy  of  a  bragging  murderer  to  the  struggle  of  a 
spirit  out  of  harmony  with  its  times.  Along  with  this  devel- 
opment of  philosophic  idea  went  an  interesting  evolution  of 
points  of  structure,  revealed  in  manifest  emphasis  on  parts 
of  the  action. 

At  first  with  attention  to  the  antagonist  came  increasing 
art  in  portraiture  together  with  nicer  elaboration  of  situ- 
ations showing  contrast  of  characters  (part  of  "Richard 
III"  and  all  of  ''Richard  11").  Next,  as  if  in  protest  against 
narrative  plays  and  ancient  technic,  in  the  presentation  of 
antagonism  complicated  by  love  and  fate,  appeared  unmis- 
takably emphasized,  along  with  fine  portraits  and  contrast- 
ing situations,  some  especially  lively  incidents  and  very  nat- 
ural sentiments  and  speech,  making  tragic  action  for  the  first 
time  truly  dramatic  ("Romeo  and  Juliet").  The  advan- 
tage of  a  keynote  scene  was  suggested. 

A  keynote  scene,  as  Shakespeare  perfected  it  subsequently 
in  "Julius  Caesar,"  "Hamlet,"  and  "Macbeth,"  is  the  first 
scene  of  the  play,  is  short,  is  detached  from  the  succeeding 
action,  contains  no  very  important  personage,  and  is  not 
essential  to  an  understanding  of  the  story,  but  is  withal 
distinctly  helpful  and  vivifying,  striking  clearly  and  bril- 
liantly the  tone  of  the  whole  piece.  In  "Romeo  and  Juliet" 
and  in  "Coriolanus"  there  is  all  the  efifect  of  a  keynote  scene 
with  the  following  variations  from  our  definition:  As 
printed  in  our  modern  texts,  the  keynote  situation  in  these 
two  plays  does  not  occupy  quite  the  whole  scene,  but  either 
slips  into  or  is  transformed  in  the  latter  part  into  a  character 
presentment  of  the  protagonist.  The  structural  function  of 
the  first  hundred-or-so  lines,  however,  remains  the  same. 


258  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

Naturally  the  keynotes  vary  in  pitch  and  quality  as  the  plays 
vary.  In  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  the  tone  is  high  and  nervous, 
introducing  the  empty  but  fatal  quarreling  of  the  two  houses. 
In  "Julius  Caesar"  it  is  medium  in  pitch  and  changeable  in 
quality,  as  the  commoners  are  silly  and  the  tribunes  in 
earnest.  In  "Hamlet"  it  is  very  sensibly  low,  somber  and 
dignified.  In  "Macbeth"  it  is  wholly  minor  and  weird,  sug- 
gestive of  the  ill  events  to  follow.  In  "Coriolanus"  it  is 
high  without  being  nervous,  and  ominous  without  being 
weird.  The  crowds  upon  the  stage  at  the  beginning  of 
"Romeo  and  Juliet,"  "Julius  Caesar,"  and  "Coriolanus"  are 
as  different  and  individual  as  single  persons  are,  and  yet  no 
one  of  these  crowds  ceases  for  a  minute  to  be  a  crowd. 

After  "Romeo  and  Juliet,"  perhaps  because  of  attention 
to  the  Senecan  suggestions  therein,  probably  also  because 
of  the  course  of  political  events  of  his  time,  Shakespeare 
passed  to  the  retributive  idea  and  an  emphasized  antagonist. 
The  retributive  idea  as  first  used  by  Shakespeare  is  one  of 
punishment  in  kind  by  a  human  antagonist  brought  upon  the 
stage  and  shown  as  roused  to  action  by  the  protagonist's 
chief  deed  directly  presented.  As  later  used,  the  retributive 
idea  becomes  the  reaction  of  disposition  and  character, 
though  there  is  present  at  the  end  of  the  catastrophe  a  repre- 
sentative antagonist.  Either  conception  occasions,  if  not  the 
presentation  of  that  chief  deed,  necessarily  an  emphasis  of 
it  in  a  review  given  when  the  punishment  conspicuously  be- 
gins. The  deed  we  have  called  the  crisis-deed;  and  the 
emphasis  of  it,  the  crisis-emphasis. 

In  the  choosing  of  terms  for  this  study  there  has  been  the 
endeavor  to  avoid  the  confusion  often  found  in  dramatic 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  259 

criticism,  where  no  clear  distinction  is  made  between  phys- 
ical deed  and  mental  distress,  between  crisis-act  and  crisis- 
realization,  between  the  middle  of  the  play  as  a  mere  middle 
and  the  middle  of  the  play  as  a  center  toward  which  and 
from  which  important  actions  flow ;  and  where  no  clear  dis- 
tinction is  made  between  crisis  and  climax.  Climax  as  a 
technical  term  does  not  signify  crisis,  but  may  signify  some- 
thing that  starts  therein  ("Lear"),  or  culminates  therein 
("Julius  Caesar"),  or  proceeds  therethrough  ("Othello"). 

In  this  book,  by  crisis-deed  we  shall  continue  to  mean 
what  we  have  meant  all  along ;  namely,  that  particular  action 
performed  by  the  protagonist  which  when  realized  and  re- 
turned upon  him  proves  to  be  the  cause  of  his  death.  The 
source  of  this  crisis  is  always  the  story.  Brutus's  deed  is 
the  blow  at  Caesar ;  Hamlet's,  the  blow  at  Claudius ;  Othello's, 
the  killing  of  Desdemona;  Lear's,  the  banishment  of  Cor- 
delia and  the  dividing  of  his  kingdom;  Macbeth's,  the  mur- 
der of  Duncan;  Antony's  is  not  shown;  Coriolanus's  is  not 
completed.  The  present  definition  of  this  technical  point, 
since  the  word  "crisis"  is  included  in  it,  will  sound  strange 
to  those  persons  who  have  always  associated  the  idea  of 
crisis-deed  with  only  the  middle  of  the  play.  I  wish  to  chal- 
lenge the  habit  of  polarized  thought  concerning  the  term. 
The  thought  is  correct  in  connection  with  "Julius  Caesar," 
but  not  in  the  same  way  with  any  other  of  Shakespeare's 
tragedies.  Why  should  one  see  no  further  than  the  Brutus- 
Antony  action?  Shakespeare  himself  saw  further.  Ask  the 
ordinary  theorist  what  he  understands  by  crisis,  and  he  will 
say,  "the  turning  point  in  the  hero's  career,"  or  "that  place 
in  the  story  where  the  protagonist's  deeds  begin  to  react  on 


260  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

him,"  or  "that  place  in  the  course  of  events  where  the  pro- 
tagonist's will  comes  out  strongest  and  he  does  the  deed 
which  causes  his  death."  These  are  good  definitions.  But, 
perverse  inconsistency!  the  application  of  them  is  usually 
based  on  a  presumption,  as  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  if  you 
quiz  further  as  to  where  this  deed  occurs  you  will  be  told 
that  it  occurs  "in  the  middle  of  the  play" !  The  theorist  has 
forgot  to  look  at  the  phenomena.  In  Shakespeare's  tragedies 
dating  after  the  "Julius  Caesar,"  except  in  the  "Coriolanus," 
the  crisis-deed  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  middle  of  the  play, 
and  in  the  "Coriolanus"  the  deed  is  but  a  half-deed. 

The  placing  of  the  crisis-deed  at  the  end  of  a  series  of  pre- 
meditated events  occasions  a  continuous  rise  in  interest  until 
the  deed  be  reached ;  but  the  elaboration  of  the  deed  as  the 
fulfilment  of  expectation  tends  to  complete  the  action,  and 
anything  more  than  emphasis  of  the  deed  seems  like  another 
play.  There  is  thus  the  effect  of  two  tragedies  in  the 
"Julius  Caesar";  but  after  1600,  as  we  say,  Shakespeare  is 
found  to  have  avoided  presenting  the  crisis-deed  in  the 
middle  of  the  action.  "Coriolanus"  is  the  exception  that 
proves  the  rule.  In  "Hamlet"  the  crisis-deed  (physical 
blow)  is  at  the  end  of  the  play;  in  "Othello,"  less  than  three 
hundred  lines  from  the  end ;  in  "Lear"  at  the  beginning ;  in 
"Macbeth,"  off  the  stage  between  the  first  and  second  scenes 
of  the  second  act,  presented  indirectly  through  the  feelings 
of  the  perpetrators.  In  "Antony  and  Cleopatra"  the  crisis- 
deed  is  not  shown  at  all.  The  crisis  as  a  psychological  fact 
for  both  Antony  and  Cleopatra  occurred  before  the  open- 
ing of  the  play  and  is  narrated  in  retrospective  description 
by  a  subordinate  actor  later.     If  a  person  chooses  to  con- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  261 

sider  Antony's  last  return  to  Cleopatra  as  the  crisis,  there  is 
still  the  same  phenomenon :  the  deed  is  not  presented. 
Shakespeare  avoided  presentation  of  the  crisis-event  in 
this  play  for  one  of  two  reasons:  either  because  he  thought 
he  could  not  present  it  or  because  he  preferred  climax  at  the 
end  of  the  action.  That  "Coriolanus"  is  at  once  an  advance 
in  philosophy  and  a  summary  of  Shakespeare's  technic  is 
revealed  naturally  enough  by  the  middle  of  the  play,  where 
there  both  is  and  is  not  a  crisis-deed  presented  as  the  center 
of  the  action.  Analysis  of  the  center  of  that  play  depends 
on  what  interpretation  is  put  upon  the  word  *'deed."  If 
standing  for  the  consulship  without  success  be  a  deed,  then 
there  is  a  crisis-deed  near  the  middle  of  the  play;  if  failure 
to  accomplish  be  not  a  deed,  as  Hamlet's  failure  is  not,  then 
the  crisis  in  "Coriolanus"  becomes  a  mental  crisis ;  and  we 
get,  instead  of  Coriolanus's  success  and  the  result  of  it,  the 
result  of  his  disposition,  in  an  incident  which,  by  its  turn 
upon  Coriolanus  and  his  subsequent  return  upon  it,  imparts 
to  those  middle  scenes  the  effect  of  a  suspended  catastrophe ; 
it  is  the  suspense  of  the  catastrophe  that  affords  rise  and 
climax  in  that  play. 

Now,  there  are  clearly  two  conceptions  of  the  term  "rise" 
as  used  in  dramatic  criticism.  One  is  popular,  a  rise  in 
interest,  occasioned  by  ever-increasing  intensity  of  effect  in 
the  scenes,  which  in  turn  is  usually  caused  by  long  suspended 
expectation.  This  suspense  of  expectation  we  call  climax. 
The  other  is  technical,  the  working  out  of  the  protagonist's 
announced  purpose  into  a  deed.  This  working  out  we  call 
rise. 

It  is  easy  to  see  how  these  two  conceptions  unite  in  any 


262  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

analysis  of  the  "Julius  Caesar,"  as  far  as  the  assassination ; 
for  the  scenes  increase  in  interest  because  of  the  expectation 
of  the  event,  and  are  in  themselves  the  evolution  of  the  pro- 
tagonists' purpose.  But  with  the  completion  of  the  deed, 
the  technical  meaning  of  rise  drops  off,  and  the  other  con- 
tinues uninterrupted  only  through  Antony's  oration  and  the 
little  scene  that  follows.  With  the  beginning  of  Act  IV  a 
new  interest  must  be  created,  not  in  new  people  necessarily 
(though  there  are  new  people)  but  in  new  expectation  and  a 
new  course  of  events.  In  "Hamlet"  the  technical  meaning 
of  the  term  "rise"  continues  to  the  end  of  the  whole  action, 
reinforced  by  a  temporarily  increased  expectation  created 
just  before  and  disappointed  just  after  the  middle  of  the 
play.  It  is  patent,  however,  that  the  popular  feeling  of  rise 
does  not  continue  steadily  to  the  consummation  of  Hamlet's 
purpose:  there  comes  in  the  new  interest  of  Hamlet's  safety; 
but  this  new  interest  is  not  so  strong  as  the  desire  for  Hamlet 
to  do  something;  and  consequently  the  new  element  frets 
rather  than  intensifies  expectation.  The  inserted  episodes 
by  their  very  excellence  break  up  the  interest.  Some  are 
consequents  of  the  one  purpose,  Hamlet's ;  some  of  the  other, 
the  king's.  We  must  remember,  however,  that  the  largest 
purpose  is  Hamlet's  and  that  that  continues  unfilled  until 
the  end  of  the  play.  There  is  therefore  to  an  extent  the 
effect  of  climax  sustained  to  the  end.  Technically,  the 
reaction  comes  before  the  deed  is  committed.  Hamlet  is 
killed  before  he  kills.  The  reaction  begins  with  the  pseudo- 
deed,  the  mental-blow  in  the  play-scene.  It  is  this  mental 
crisis,  or  art  crisis,  that  we  hereafter  become  engaged  with 
as  critics  of  the  middle  of  a  Shakespearean  play.     Having 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  263 

once  conceived  the  advantage  of  a  mental  crisis  at  the  center 
of  the  play,  and  yet  continuing  to  believe  that  tragedy  must 
end  with  the  death  of  the  hero,  Shakespeare  clearly  had  as 
his  problem  of  structure  management  of  the  reaction-half  of 
his  typical  play,  or  unity  between  the  two  halves. 

What  he  first  did  was  to  shorten  so  much  the  reaction- 
half  as  to  secure  the  eflfect  of  total  absence  of  halves,  or  of 
"twoness" ;  in  other  words,  he  gained  almost  complete  unity 
by  devoting  expansion  to  the  rise  ("Othello").  What  he 
did  next  was  to  omit  the  rise  and  devote  expansion  to  the 
fall,  or  reaction  ("Lear"),  thus  also  gaining  unity  in  the 
overplot,  but  through  a  desire  for  emphasis  endangering 
unity  by  a  reinforcing  underplot.  Again,  he  omitted  all 
underplot  and  made  the  rise  very  brief  and  intense  ("Mac- 
beth")— as  intense  as  the  former  short  reaction  part  follow- 
ing the  former  long  rise — and  succeeded  in  making  the  nat- 
ural rise,  coming  in  from  the  history,  bear  the  effect  of  a 
psychological  reaction  and  a  moral  fall ;  but  a  lack  of  inspira- 
tion in  the  management  of  two  of  the  later  scenes  occasioned 
the  impression  of  a  lack  of  thorough  unity.  The  next  tragedy 
he  made  totally  an  elaboration  of  a  catastrophe  ("Antony 
and  Cleopatra")  ;  and  the  next,  of  two  catastrophes  in 
sequence,  both  caused  by  the  disposition  of  the  protago- 
nist ("Coriolanus").  This  last  structure  offers  concomi- 
tant rise,  fall,  and  climax.  Following  are  the  correlated 
data  of  this  evolution  with  the  points  of  structure  defined 
and  cited  in  the  various  plays. 

The  rise  in  "Othello,"  we  say,  gives  almost  true  climax, 
sustained  to  within  three  hundred  lines  of  the  end.  This 
rise  bears  both  the  popular  and  the  technical  interpreta- 


264  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

tions  of  rise.  It  is  made  up  of  the  clear  exposition  of 
lago  as  inciting  motive,  his  full  reception  by  Othello,  and 
the  working  of  the  evil  purpose  out  from  Othello's  mind 
into  a  deed.  Technically,  the  rise  begins  at  the  definite 
entrance  of  the  exciting-force  into  Othello's  mind  and  con- 
tinues until  the  deed  is  done.  Popularly,  it  begins  with 
lago's  announcement  of  what  he  means  to  do  since  he  is 
not  what  he  is  supposed  to  be,  but  is  something  inimical 
to  the  Moor.  This  interest  begins  in  the  Exposition.  The  whole 
rise  is  thus  truly  the  working  of  idea  out  into  deed :  lago's 
idea  and  Othello's  idea,  which  become  one.  The  highest 
part  of  the  dramatic  rise  is  the  immediate  transformation 
of  the  idea  into  the  deed ;  but  this  is  prefaced  and  made 
intelligible  by  the  artificial  rise,  lago's  machinations  to  get 
himself  accepted  in  Othello's  mind  as  directing  force.  In 
*'Lear"  there  is  no  rise  in  the  technical  sense  in  the  main 
plot,  although  there  is  one  in  the  underplot.  In  the  first 
scene,  Lear  expresses  his  purpose  to  divide  his  kingdom 
in  three,  and  there  he  succeeds  in  dividing  it — in  two. 
It  is  this  division  that  costs  him  his  life.  In  "Macbeth"  the 
rise  to  the  crisis-deed  performed  by  the  protagonist  is  short 
and  intense.  The  evolution  of  murder  from  a  thought  to  an 
action  is  nowhere  more  luminously  shown.  We  get  a 
repetition  of  this  evolution  in  each  succeeding  murder,  ex- 
cept that  the  ascent  is  quicker  and  Macbeth  himself  does 
not  do  the  deeds  planned.  The  first  murder  is,  therefore, 
the  protagonist's  "actual"  crisis.  And  the  rise  to  it,  the 
technical  rise.  In  "Antony  and  Cleopatra"  there  is  no 
rise  in  the  sense  of  evolution  of  thought  into  a  deed.  What 
Antony  does,  he  does  by  opportunity  or  the  plans  and  pur- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  265 

poses  of  others.     Coriolanus,  too,  in  a  way,  moves  forward 
on  impulses  and  disposition  and  on  a  course  of  events  that 
he  does  not  initiate;    but  he,  as  well  as  Brutus,  Hamlet, 
and  Macbeth— and  herein  is  constituted  the  peculiar  rise  of 
his  tragedy— attempts  something  that  he  very  much  wishes 
to  carry  through.     The  difference  between  him  and  these 
other  protagonists  is  that  he  fails,  whereas  they  succeed. 
He  fails  to  perform  the  deed  he  set  out  to  perform— to 
humble  himself  enough  to  be  consul,  and  is  left,  therefore, 
with  a  crisis  in  his  disposition  and  a  crisis  which  is  half 
a  catastrophe  in  events  at  the  middle  of  the  action.     This 
state  obtains  after  the  crisis-emphasis.     Whereupon  there 
is  a  second  peculiar  rise,  like  the  first,  peculiar  in  the  fact 
that  while  Coriolanus  moves  upward  toward  a  deed  pre- 
willed  and  expected,  he  does  not  do  that  deed.    Moreover, 
his  tragedy  results  as  much  from  his  failure  to  do  as  from 
his  willful  willing. 

The  exciting-force  in  a  Shakespearean  tragedy  is  the  idea 
in  the  mind  of  the  protagonist  which  starts  him  on  his  fate- 
ful action.  Sometimes  the  exciting-force  is  personified  and 
works  at  first  as  an  exciting  agent,  but  it  never  fails  of 
also  being  finally  a  thought  in  the  mind  of  the  protagonist. 
It  is  not  much  different  from  the  old  Senecan  revenge 
motive  or  the  lust  of  the  Marlowean  protagonists,  except 
that  its  working  out  into  action  is  more  intimately  con- 
nected with  character.  In  "J^Hus  Caesar"  it  is  the  thought 
of  killing  Caesar;  in  "Hamlet,"  revenge  for  a  father;  in 
''Othello,"  the  idea  of  total  supremacy,  or  of  revenge  chang- 
ing into  the  specific  idea  of  destruction  of  Desdemona ;  in 
"Lear,"  the  desire  to  be  king  without  responsibility  and  to 


266  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

depend  most  on  the  one  of  three  daughters  who  loves  her 
father  best;  in  "Macbeth,"  to  be  sovereign  through  fair 
or  foul  means ;  in  "Antony  and  Cleopatra/'  to  be  near  the 
loved  one  though  empires  fall ;  in  "Coriolanus,"  in  the  first 
half,  to  please  a  mother  and  to  be  partly  proud,  and,  in 
the  second  half,  to  be  partly  proud  and  to  please  a  mother. 
The  exciting-force  has  a  slightly  different  effect  in  a  falling 
action  from  what  it  has  in  a  rising  action. 

Emphasis  of  the  fate-making  deed  either  before  or  after 
it  happens  gives  opportunity  for  an  enlarged  psychic  crisis. 
Shakespeare   seized  this  opportunity   in   every  play   after 
1600.    Our  definition  of  crisis-emphasis,  then,  remains  what 
we  have  made  it  heretofore.     Crisis-emphasis  as   used   by 
Shakespeare  is  a  review  or  anticipation  of  the  crisis-deed. 
Rescanning  or  anticipation,  instead  of  perpetration,  makes 
this  emphasis  in  all  the  plays  primarily  psychic.    It  presents 
a  face-to-face  meeting  of  the  protagonist  and  the  antago- 
nist either  actually  or  spiritually.    In  "Julius  Caesar,"  this 
crisis-emphasis  is  the  Brutus- Antony  debate;  in  "Hamlet," 
it  is  the  closet  scene;  in  "Othello,"  the  handkerchief  scene 
with  its  accompanying  episodes ;   in  "Lear,"  it  is  the  storm 
on  the  heath ;  in  "Macbeth,"  it  is  the  banquet ;  in  "Antony 
and  Cleopatra,"  Antony's  soliloquy  over  his  shame  (and  the 
two  following  dialogues — indeed,  really  all  Act  III,  where 
Antony  is  shown  again  in  Egypt,  as  if  he  had  not  left  it 
(Scene  6  is  merely  a  necessary  connecting  passage  forming 
the  introduction  to  the  crisis-emphasis) ;  in "Coriolanus,"  the 
crisis-emphasis  is  the  elaborated  banishment  situation,  be- 
ginning with  the  discussion  in  Coriolanus's  house  where  he 
promises  to  return  to  plead  with  the  people,  and  continu- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  267 

ing  through  the  decree,  the  departure  at  the  gate,  and  the 
preparation  for  revenge.  In  some  adequate  way  the  crisis- 
emphasis  compels  a  mental  survey  not  only  of  the  crisis 
but  of  the  action  up  to  that  point,  and  intensifies  the  mean- 
ing by  anticipation  of  the  catastrophe  through  suggestion. 
Antony,  in  ''J^^i^^s  Caesar,"  reviev^s  the  work  of  the  con- 
spirators and  the  events  in  the  life  of  Caesar  for  which 
they  slew  him.  Hamlet  brings  to  the  remembrance  of  his 
mother  her  former  husband  and  speaks  out  about  her  pres- 
ent life.  Othello  tells  Desdemona  of  the  potency  of  the  lost 
handkerchief  and  its  relation  to  their  recent  marriage.  Lear 
reiterates  his  bounty  to  his  undutiful  children.  His  mental 
harrowing  is  terrific.  He  is  even  twice  face-to-face  with 
his  tormentors — at  the  beginning  actually  and  during  the 
storm  imaginatively.  Antony  meets  both  the  causers  of 
his  tragedy;  Cleopatra  face-to- face,  who  conquers  him,  as 
she  has  from  the  beginning  of  the  play  conquered  him ; 
and  Caesar,  by  proxy,  whose  messenger  Antony  whips,  but 
who  is,  nevertheless,  all  the  time  materially  overcoming  both 
Antony  and  Cleopatra.  Coriolanus  remeets  the  angry 
people  and  their  tribunes  and  is  baited  by  them  to  his  dis- 
aster. For  those  plays  like  "Antony  and  Cleopatra,"  "Ham- 
let," and  "Lear,"  where  the  crisis-deed  is  omitted  altogether 
or  comes  at  the  end  or  the  beginning  of  the  action,  the 
crisis-emphasis  in  the  middle  necessarily  takes  the  place  of 
the  crisis-deed,  substituting  a  psychic  crisis  and  in  turn  em- 
phasizing that  as  well  as  looking  back  to  the  beginning  and 
on  to  the  end.  This  group  of  psychic-crisis  and  crisis- 
emphasis  scenes  is  usually  very  beautiful  and  carefully 
wrought. 


268  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

The  skillful  management  of  the  exciting-force  and  of  the 
crisis  elements  makes  the  "Othello"  drama  supreme,  con- 
sidered from  the  point  of  view  of  climax  in  a  rising  action.  The 
definite  entrance  of  the  exciting- force  becomes  the  psychic 
crisis,  the  emphasis  of  this  psychic  crisis  becomes  the  ante- 
cedent emphasis  of  the  crisis-deed,  the  review  and  conse- 
quent emphasis  of  the  crisis-deed  turns  out  to  be  the  catas- 
trophe, and  the  play  is  done  and  climax  secured.  It  is  the 
securing  of  climax  in  the  falling  action  that  we  must  pres- 
ently discuss. 

By  falling  action  is  meant,  naturally,  the  opposite  of  ris- 
ing action.  There  is  in  connection  with  this  term  "fall," 
as  well  as  with  that  of  "rise,"  a  technical  and  a  popular 
meaning  which  is  sometimes  distinct  and  sometimes  fused. 
Popularly,  fall  means  the  reverse  of  success,  a  drop  from 
power  to  no  power.  Philosophically,  fall  means  misadjust- 
ment.  Technically,  it  means  both  reverse  of  success  and 
misadjustment,  or  the  resolution  of  deed  into  thought — the 
realization  of  failure.  By  "rise,"  we  said,  is  meant  a  grad- 
ual and  steady  approach  of  the  protagonist  to  a  special  deed, 
pre-willed  by  him,  expected  by  the  audience  and  consist- 
ently executed,  "consistently"  signifying  "in  accordance  with 
the  protagonist's  character."  In  other  words,  rise  is  the 
evolution  of  idea  and  character  into  a  deed — Brutus's,  Ham- 
let's, Othello's,  Macbeth's;  whereas  fall  or  falling  action, 
is '  the  gradual  resolution  or  dissolution  of  deed  or  deeds 
into  thought — characteristic  deeds  into  characteristic  real- 
ization of  consequential  failure  —  Brutus's,  Hamlet's, 
Othello's,  Lear's,  Macbeth's,  Antony's,  Coriolanus's,  Timon's. 

It  is  just  as  easy  to  see  how  these  popular  and  technical 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  269 

meanings  of  fall  are  present  in  the  second  half  of  the 
"Julius  Caesar"  action  as  to  see  how  the  popular  and  tech- 
nical meanings  of  rise  are  clearly  applicable  to  the  first 
half.  So,  in  the  "Hamlet"  action:  after  the  characteristic 
intellectual  crisis-test,  and  while  Hamlet  continues  hesitat- 
ing over  the  execution  of  the  expected  deed,  there  is  the 
drop  from  power  and  there  is  the  realization  of  failure  con- 
sequent on  disposition.  There  is,  accordingly,  in  the  "Julius 
Caesar"  tragedy  and  to  a  large  effect  in  the  "Hamlet,"  a 
change  of  dominance  near  the  middle  of  the  play ;  that  is. 
there  appears  a  new  causer  of  events,  the  technical  antago- 
nist, who  for  sometime  claims  the  center  of  the  stage  and 
finally  brings  to  death  the  protagonist.  Both  Antony  and 
Claudius  assume  immediate  control  of  events  and  Brutus 
and  Hamlet  are,  for  a  time,  retired.  There  is  in  the 
"Othello"  drama  no  such  change  of  dominance  after  the 
crisis-deed.  Emilia,  to  be  sure,  brings  forward  the  state- 
ments that  open  the  eyes  of  the  Moor,  but  the  Moor  is 
his  own  executioner,  and  the  catastrophe  is  very  close  to 
the  crisis-deed.  The  realization  is  quick,  and  the  falling 
action  consequently  very  short.  But  the  Lear,  Macbeth, 
Antony,  and  Coriolanus  realizations  are  no  such  brief  af- 
fairs. The  "Macbeth"  drama,  as  we  have  seen,  is  tech- 
nically the  reverse  of  the  "Othello."  The  "Othello"  is  a 
long  rise  and  a  short  fall ;  the  "Macbeth"  is  a  short  rise 
and  a  long  fall.  Popularly  considered,  the  rise  in  the 
"Macbeth"  drama  is  as  is  the  rise  in  the  "Richard  HI," 
incidental,  concomitant  with  incident  and  belonging  thereto 
and  not  to  the  play  as  a  whole.  This  conception  is  correct 
of   the   "Richard   III"   action.      What  binds   that   play   to- 


270  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

gether  are  merely  Richard's  announcement  at  the  beginning 
that  he  means  to  be,  henceforth,  a  villain,  and  his  continued 
announcements  of  his  particular  purposes.  Expectation  con- 
sequently rises  and  falls  episodically  with  successive  ap- 
proaches and  fulfillments.  Somewhat  the  same  statement 
may  be  made  of  the  "Richard  III."  This  conception  is 
not  correct  of  the  "Macbeth"  drama,  however,  if  more  is 
meant  than  something  in  connection  with  stage  activities 
and  the  rise  in  truculence  of  the  scenes.  Philosophically, 
Macbeth's  career  is  from  the  beginning  misadjustment  men- 
tally; and  after  the  crisis-deed,  it  is  misadjustment  mor- 
ally as  well  as  mentally — it  is  fall.  Lear's  fall  is  one  long 
agonized  realization,  as  Antony's  is  likewise.  Coriolanus's 
and  Timon's  tragedies  are  spiritual  failures;  the  mere 
physical  death  of  either  of  these  two  protagonists  is  unim- 
portant, except  as  the  physical  death  of  Coriolanus  is  the 
prime  expectation  throughout  the  play. 

The  suggestion  of  the  catastrophe  which  stands  near  the 
middle  of  the  action,  within  the  crisis-emphasis  group  of 
scenes,  is  the  tragic  incident,  which  transforms  itself  some- 
times, into  the  tragic  turn.  By  tragic-incident  is  meant  a 
particular  happening  that  gathers  up  in  itself  significance 
from  all  that  has  preceded  and  portends  as  its  consequent 
the  evil  that  really  follows.  The  word  "consequent"  is 
used  here  instead  of  "consequence"  to  express  the  fact  that 
the  happening  is  itself  a  sequential  incident  of  the  real  cause 
and  is  not  a  full  cause  of  what  follows,  but  rather  the  occa- 
sion. It  is  usually  of  minor  importance  as  an  event,  since 
it  is  not  long  prepared  for  and  appears  somewhat  as  a  sur- 
prise.   It  always  helps  to  emphasize  the  tragic  idea.    It  re- 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  271 

inforces  and  intensifies  the  feeling  of  crisis  though  it  is 
itself  not  the  large  crisis-deed.  The  tragic  incident  becomes 
a  tragic  turn,  or  links  with  itself  a  tragic  turn,  when  the 
direction  of  what  is  to  ensue  is  clearly  different  from  that 
of  what  has  gone  before.  In  "J^^^^s  Caesar,"  after  Bru- 
tus has  ordered  the  citizens  to  stay  to  hear  Antony,  they 
join  Antony  and  turn  to  fire  the  house  of  Brutus.  When 
Hamlet  has  withheld  his  hand  from  the  king  by  deliberative 
act,  on  impulse  a  few  minutes  later  he  kills  Polonius.  This 
unplanned  deed,  which  reveals  much,  is  a  tragic  turn  in 
Hamlet's  affairs.  The  forcing  of  equivocating  self-defense 
on  Desdemona,  who  has  lost  her  handkerchief,  is  a  tragic 
incident  but  not  a  turn,  since  the  action  after  this  scene  is 
still  up  along  the  purpose  of  the  protagonist.  Lear's  fling- 
ing himself  off  into  the  storm — the  most  foolish  and  most 
desperate  thing  he  could  do — is  a  tragic  plunge  but  not  a 
turn;  it  is  only  further  progress  down  the  way  he  was 
already  going.  In  "Macbeth"  the  tragic  incident  is  Mac- 
beth's  compromising  display  of  fear  at  the  appearance  of  the 
ghost.  Generally  the  tragic  incident  in  a  falling  action  is 
not  a  turn,  since  the  direction  of  the  events  continues  down. 
The  tragic  incident  in  a  falling  action  usually  precedes  the 
heavier  emphasis ;  in  other  words,  the  place  of  the  incident 
is  about  the  same  in  all  the  plays,  that  is,  within  the  crisis- 
emphasis  on  the  side  nearer  the  crisis-deed.  In  "Antony  and 
Cleopatra,"  the  tragic  incident  is  Antony's  decision  to  fight 
by  sea  instead  of  by  land.  This  decision,  like  Lear's  im- 
petuous act,  is  not  a  turn,  but  a  further  plunge.  The  crisis- 
emphasis  begins  in  the  fact  that  the  decision  is  made  in 
response  to  Cleopatra's  taunt,  and  goes  on  to  the  failure  of 


272  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

the  sea  fight  and  to  Antony's  soHloquy.    The  failure  of  the 
sea  fight  is  pre-known.  Enobarbus  makes  absolutely  clear  be- 
forehand the  impossibility  of  success.    The  battle  of  Actium 
is,  therefore,  not  a  turn  towards  Antony's  catastrophe,  but 
only  an  incident  of  that  catastrophe,  which  is  already  in 
progress.    In  "Coriolanus,"  however,  where  the  action  par- 
takes all  along  of  a  rise  and  a  fall,  the  tragic  incident,  the 
standing  a  second  time  for  consul,  becomes  a  tragic  turn, 
but  of  a  peculiar  sort.     For  the  events  that  have  preceded, 
it  becomes  a  turn  down,  a  catastrophe — the  end;   for  new 
events  it  becomes  the  starting  point  up;    that  is,  despite 
the  turn  down,   altogether  the  banishment  of   Coriolanus 
serves  as  an  elaborate  arrest  of  the  expected  catastrophe, 
which  is  the  death  of  Coriolanus.     It  is  the  management 
of  tragic  turn  in  "Coriolanus"  that  gives  to  this  essentially 
falling  action  the  efTect  of  rise  and  climax;  in  other  words, 
the  incident  of  the  banishment  coming  at  the  end  of  the 
crisis-emphasis  acts  at  once  as  a  tragic  turn  and  an  arrest. 
The  arrest  of  the  catastrophe,  that  device  which  holds  up 
expectation  of  the  protagonist's  death,  easily  becomes  elab- 
orated into  a  scene  supplementing  the  psychic  crisis  in  those 
plays  where  the  crisis-deed  begins  the  action  or  is  ante- 
cedent to  the  beginning.    Lear's  momentary  restoration  by 
Cordelia  is  an  arrest  of  the  catastrophe,  and  is  presented 
as  a  short  scene.    In  "Antony  and  Cleopatra"  there  is  for 
each  protagonist  an  arrest ;  for  Antony,  the  loyalty  of  Eros, 
who  kills  himself  instead  of  his  master  whom  he  had  prom- 
ised thus  to  serve;   and  in  continuation,  Antony's  missing 
of  his  own  heart  immediately  afterwards;    for  Cleopatra 
there  are  the  visits    of    Proculeius    and    Caesar.     Though 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  273 

changed,  these  incidents  are  taken  over   from  the   source. 
There  is  an  excellent  occurrence  in  "Richard  III"  in  the 
fourth  act,  somewhat  far  removed,  however,  from  the  final 
catastrophe ;  and  there  is  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  the  coming 
of  Paris  to  the  tomb.  This  incident,  though  added  by  Shake- 
speare, may  have  resulted,  we  must  acknowledge,  from  his 
desire  to  bring  together  in  mortal  combat  at  the  end  of  the 
play  a  protagonist  and  a  representative  antagonist,  and  not 
from  a  desire  to  arrest  the  catastrophe.    What  Freytag  calls 
the  force  of  the  final  suspense  in  "Julius  Caesar" — the  an- 
nouncement of  Brutus  that  he  finds  it  cowardly  and  vile 
for  one  to  kill  oneself — seems  to  me  to  be  a  rather  prepara- 
tion for  the  mode  of  Brutus's  death  than  an  arrest  of  a 
falling  tragedy,  since  Brutus  adds  immediately  that  he  bears 
too  great  a  mind  to  go  bound  to  Rome.     An  arrest  of  the 
catastrophe  for  Brutus  does  occur,  however,  in  the  fact  that 
he  wins  the  first  encounter  in  the  presented  battle.    His  ar- 
rest results  from  the  narrative  source.     In  "Hamlet"  there 
is  the  setting-by  of  the  poisoned  cup,  an  instance  of  this 
element  of  structure  which,  we  have  evidence,  Shakespeare 
deliberately  embellished  as  a  late  fine  point  of  the  action. 
After  1604  Shakespeare  not  only  did  not  fail  to  adopt  from 
the  source  opportunity  for  the  arrest  of  the  catastrophe,  but 
he  generally  put  in  also  further  along  in  the  last  act  of  the 
play  a  short  incidental  final  arrest  like  the  one  in  "Hamlet." 
In  "Lear"  there  is  re-created  expectation  of  a  happy  end- 
ing by  the  order  Edmund  gives  to  save  Lear  and  Q)rdelia. 
In  "Othello,"  to  the  eflPect  that  the  audience  may  experi- 
ence a  brief  respite  before  the  death  of  Desdemona,  Desde- 
mona  is  allowed  to  speak  after  she  is  thought  dead ;  and 


274  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

that  there  may  be  belief  for  a  second  that  Othello  will  not 
kill  himself  there  is  arranged  the  incident  of  taking  away 
his  weapon.  In  "Macbeth"  the  force  of  suspense  reappears 
a  number  of  times  in  reference  to  the  prophecy  of  the 
witches.  The  last  occurrence  is  just  before  MacdufiP  makes 
the  fatal  announcement  of  his  birth.  In  "Coriolanus"  the 
final  arrest  of  the  catastrophe  is  very  slight,  since  the  large 
arrest  of  the  catastrophe,  which  occurs  in  the  story,  is  made 
the  prime  functional  point  of  the  structure;  namely,  the 
center  of  the  play,  or  the  crisis-emphasis  including  the  tragic 
incident,  which  there  acts  as  a  suspensive  turn  effecting  a 
climax. 

By  climax  we  do  not  mean  the  technical  rise,  or  evolu- 
tion of  thought  of  the  protagonist  into  a  deed;  since  in 
a  number  of  plays,  in  "Lear"  and  "Antony  and  Cleopatra" 
conspicuously,  the  action  is  not  that  of  the  evolution  of 
thought  into  a  deed,  but  rather  of  the  resolution  of  a  deed 
into  thought ;  and  since  in  "Coriolanus"  the  rise  is  the  evo- 
lution of  the  protagonist's  purpose  into  situations  only, 
where  consummation  in  deed  is  impossible,  and  the  tragic 
fall  is  continuous  and  concomitant  with  the  rise,  and  the 
whole  action,  therefore,  becomes  the  climactic  resolution  of 
character  into  the  realization  of  failure  and  the  consumma- 
tion of  death.  Climax  means  in  our  summary,  then,  what 
it  has  meant  all  along  in  our  discussion.  As  a  process,  it 
is  the  continuing  of  expectation ;  and  as  a  product,  the  sat- 
isfaction of  continued  expectation. 

If  the  dramatic  execution  of  the  "Timon"  action  were  as 
good  as  the  philosophic  conception  of  it,  the  "Timon" 
tragedy  might  stand  to-day  as  the  greatest  of  all  tragedies. 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  275 

What  it  lacks  is  not  dominant  idea,  but  character  present- 
ment and  dramatic  climax.  Timon,  as  brought  before  us, 
is  too  typical  of  human  nature  to  be  human  enough  as  an 
individual.  But  Timon's  life  expresses  well  what,  from  a 
philosophical  consideration,  is  true  tragedy — a  falling  ac- 
tion. 

The  repetition  of  all  our  analyses  has  been  made  in  brief, 
not  only  for  summary  of  the  points,  but  to  insure  clearer 
understanding  of  the  effect  that  Shakespeare's  philosophy 
had  upon  the  structure  of  his  plays.  Shakespeare's  presented 
crises  in  his  earlier  tragedies  are  deeds,  and  represent  a  will- 
ing on  the  part  of  the  protagonist;  but  the  philosophy  in 
the  "Antony  and  Cleopatra"  and  the  "Coriolanus,"  and  even 
the  "Timon,"  is  beyond  that  conception.  Fundamentally, 
after  all,  it  is  not  what  we  do  that  is  tragic,  but  what  we  are 
and  what  we  feel — what  we  do  not  do,  sometimes.  A  con- 
flict of  nature  with  herself  is  what  is  appalling.  When  once 
apprehended  in  all  its  significance,  it  is  the  grinding  of  the 
wheels  of  the  gods  that  is  terrific. 

Sophocles  attempted  to  present  this  conception.  Shake- 
speare attempted  to  present  it.  Ibsen  has  attempted  to 
present  it.  It  is  the  great  conception  of  tragedy.  Shake- 
speare has  the  advantage  of  both  Ibsen  and  Sophocles,  how- 
ever, in  that  he  chose  for  his  material,  for  the  most  part, 
facts,  as  well  as  true  conception.  No  philosophical  story 
made-up  is  ever  quite  so  convincing  as  fact  interpreted  phil- 
osophically. I  hold  no  brief  for  the  historical  drama  as 
usually  conceived ;  but  it  seems  fairly  evident  that  what 
modern  serious  plays  lack  is  not  the  facts  of  science,  but 
the  facts  of  story  in  the  Elizabethan  sense  of  the  word  of 


276  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

"occurred  affairs  of  moment."  Sophocles  also  had  to  an 
extent  the  advantage  of  the  moderns  in  that  Greek  audiences 
believed  in  the  material  presented  and  felt  the  story.  Ibsen's 
tragedies  are  great,  as  compositions,  surpassing  in  some  min- 
utiae of  technic  both  Sophocles  and  Shakespeare;  but  Ib- 
sen's dramas  lack  something.  It  is  not  truth,  for  they  are 
truthful.  What  is  it,  then?  Is  it  not  the  immortality  of 
acknowledged  ocurrence?  We  notice  that  all  Shakespeare's 
tragedies,  especially  those  that  are  entirely  his,  are  founded 
on  the  lives  of  persons  who  are  recorded  as  actually  having 
lived.  Richard  III,  Richard  II,  Romeo  and  Juliet  even, 
Julius  Caesar,  Hamlet,  Othello  also,  and  Lear,  Macbeth, 
Antony  and  Cleopatra,  and  Coriolanus.  It  is  Shakespeare's 
presentation  of  these  real  people  as  they  essentially  were 
that  fascinates  us. 

The  very  most  modern  revolt  against  conservatism  in 
problem  plays  is  a  stand  for  naturalness  in  drama.  It  seems 
at  first  thought  that  the  revolt  is  against  "story."  Not  so. 
It  is  against  the  artificiality  of  events  "made-up"  to  display 
a  theory.  The  dramatist  should  rather  attempt  to  depict 
life  as  it  is,  regardless  of  any  rounded  and  definite  theory, 
say  the  advocates  of  the  new.  Modern  plays,  those  of  the 
latest  school,  the  naturalists,  do  not  end:  they  simply  stop 
off.  They  purport  to  be,  however,  pieces  of  the  real  story, 
the  story  of  life  as  it  is.  Ibsen's  tragedies  are  largely 
polemic.  Though  Ibsen  disclaimed  the  intention,  they  leave 
the  impression  of  having  been  written  to  depict  life  as 
it  should  or  should  not  be.  Shakespeare's  tragedies  on  the 
other  hand  are  manifestly  presentations  of  life  that  actually 
was.     Perhaps  these  statements  seem  more  epigrammatic 


\ 


\ 


IN  ELIZABETHAN  TRAGEDY  211 

than  correct,  and  we  might  better  say  that  whereas  Ibsen's 
dramas  are  of  life  problems,  and  the  modern  naturalists',  of 
life  situations,  Shakespeare's  are  of  life-deeds,  those  that 
were.  This  at  least  is  true:  back  of  the  superb  character- 
drawing  in  Shakespeare's  tragedies  and  back  of  the  effective 
dramatic  technic  there  lies  also  an  explanation  of  their 
eternal   charm,   eternal   story. 

What,  then,  is  a  Shakespearean  tragedy?  Is  it  a  story? 
Yes ;  in  the  sense  of  "a  body  of  facts  of  special  significance." 
All  Elizabethan  dramas  wxre  stories.  But  a  Shakespearean 
tragedy  is  not  primarily  narrative.  Its  action  is  not  narra- 
tive, and  herein  is  Shakespeare's  distinction  from  all  prede- 
cessors. The  action  of  a  Shakespearean  tragedy  is  the  pres- 
entation through  stage  devices  of  the  issuing  of  events  out 
of  character  and  the  issuing  of  catastrophe  for  that  character 
out  of  those  events.  This  analysis  will  answer  alike  for  those 
plays  where  the  catastrophe  begins  late  and  comes  quickly, 
w^here  it  is  dependent  on  one  central  crisis-deed,  or  where 
it  accompanies  each  and  every  deed  as  an  immediate  re- 
ponse  thereto  after  an  earlier  characteristic  deed,  or  display 
of  disposition.  Character-action  is  Shakespeare's  contribu-\ 
tion  to  the  world's  dramatic  literature.  Character-action  is 
Elizabethan  tragic  technic  at  its  supreme  evolution.  In  a 
large  sense  it  might  be  said,  for  contrast,  that  Greek  drama 
presents  the  struggle  of  man  with  events  super-beings  create ; 
Senecan,  the  struggle  of  man  with  events  fellow  beings 
create ;  but  Elizabethan,  the  struggle  of  man  with  events  his 
own  being  creates.  Shakespeare  has  expressed  in  so  many 
words,  as  well  as  in  the  fact  of  his  own  dramatic  develop- 
ment, what  the  conception  of  tragic  action  had  come  to  be. 


278  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  TECHNIC 

At  the  close  of  his  greatest  elaboration  of  a  catastrophe  he 
says, 

"High  events  as  these 
Strike  those  that  make  them." 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Texts 

York  Mystery  Plays,  Lucy  Toulniin  Smith,  Clarendon  Press, 

Oxford,' 1885. 
The  Towneley  Mysteries,   Publications  of  the  Surtees  So- 
ciety, London,  1847. 
The  Coventry  and  Chester  Plays,  Supplement  to  Dodsley's 

Old  Plays,  London,  1847. 
The  Digby  Mysteries,  The  New  Shakspere  Society,  London, 

1S82. 
The  Macro  Plays,  The  Early  English  Text  Society,  London, 

1904. 
English  Miracle  Plays,  IMoralities,  and  Interludes,  by  Alfred 

W.  Pollard,  3d'  ed.,  1898. 
The   Dramatic   Writings  of   Richard   Wever   and   Thomas 

Ingelend,  Early  English  Dramatists,  London,  1905. 
Specimens  of  the  Pre-Shaksperian  Drama,  Manly,  Vol.  1, 

The  Athenaeum  Press,  Boston,  1897. 
Ten  Latin  Tragedies  of  Seneca,  Latin  Text  and  Translation 

Into  Prose  by  Watson  Bradshaw,  Swan,  Sonnenschein 

&  Co.,  London,  1902. 
Tenne  Tragedies  of  Seneca,  Black-Letter  Edition,  Publica- 
tions of  the  Spenser  Society,  Issue  44,  1887. 
Gorboduc — Specimens  of   Pre-Shakespearean   Drama,  \^ol. 

Two,  Manly,  Athenaeum  Press,  1900. 
Cambyses — Ditto.    Vol.  Two. 
Appius   and   Virginia — Dodsley's   Old   English   Plays,   Vol. 

Four,  Hazlitt,  W'.  C.  Reeves  and  Turner,  1875. 
Damon  and  Pythias — Ditto. 
Jocasta — Four   Old    Plays,   F.   J.   Childs,   George   Nichols, 

Cambridge,  1848. 
Tancred  and  Gismunda — Dodsley's  Old  English  Plays,  \'ol. 

Seven. 

279 


280  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Promos  and  Cassandra — Shakespeare's  Library,  Vol.  Six. 
Misfortunes  of  Arthur — Dodsley's  Old  English  Plays,  Vol. 

Four. 
Locrine — Collection  of  British  Authors,  Vol.  1041,  Tauch- 

nitz  Edition,  Doubtful  Plays  by  Shakespeare. 
The    Spanish    Tragedy — The    Temple    Dramatists,    Schick, 

Dent  &  Co.,  London,  1898. 
Tragedies   of   Marlowe — Works  of   Christopher   Marlowe, 

Lieut.-Col.  Cunningham,  Chatto  and  Windus,  London, 

1902. 
The  Temple  Shakespeare,  J.  M.  Dent  &  Co.,  London,  1904. 
The  Tudor  Shakespeare,  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Macmillan,  New 

York,  191 1. 

Critical  Works 
Chambers,  E.  K. — Medieval  Stage,  2  vols..  Clarendon  Press, 

Oxford,  1903. 
Cunliffe,  J.  M. — Influence  of  Seneca  on  Elizabethan  Drama, 

Macmillan,  1893. 
Davidson,    Charles. — Studies    in    English    Mystery    Plays, 

Thesis  at  Yale,  1892. 
Freytag,  Gustav — Die  Technik  des  Dramas,  Zehnte  Auflage, 

Hirzel,  Leipsig,  1905. 
Perrett,  Wilfrid — The  Story  of  King  Lear  from  Geoffrey  of 

Monmouth  to  Shakespeare,  Mayer  and  Muller,  1904. 
Price,  W.  T. — Technique  of  the  Drama,  Brentano's,  1897. 
Schelling,   F.   E. — Elizabethan    Drama    1 558-1642,   2  vols., 

Lloughton,  Miffi'in  &  Co.,  1910. 
Thorndike,  A.  H. — Hamlet  and  Revenge  Tragedy,  Relation 

of   Hamlet  to   Contemporary   Revenge   Plays,   Private 

Press. 
Thorndike,  A.  H.— Tragedy,  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  1908. 
Ward,  W.  A. — History  of  English  Dramatic  Literature,  3 

vols.,  Macmillan,  1899. 
Woodbridge,    Elizabeth — The    Drama :    Its    Laws    and    Its 

Technique,  Allyn  and  Bacon,  1898. 


Index 


Alrahani  and  Isaac,  13-17. 

Action,   85-114.    252.    257,   27;'.,  274, 

277  (Shakespearean  defined). 
Action,  character,  277 ;  material, 
24.? ;  spiritual,  248.  244  ;  moral, 
2(M),  210,  211.  214,  217.  218,  224; 
narrative.  200,  215.  217.  210  ;  psy- 
cholocioal.  200.  208,  218;  outer 
and  inner.  200.  201. 

Adoration  of  the  Mapi,  10. 

Acncid,  65. 

Aganiciinion  (Aeschuylus),  GO. 

Agamemnon,  35,  47.  40,  102.  103. 

Alleyn,  72. 

Avileth,  183. 

Antagonist,  85-114.  120,  100,  221, 
222,  250,  250.   257. 

Antonp  and  Cleopatra,  45,  84,  133, 
105,  106,  201,  226.  228-35,  243, 
246.  251,  260,  261,  263,  264,  266, 
267,  271,  272,  274. 

Arrest  of  the  Catastrophe,  146-153, 
102.  220,  250-52.  272.  273  (de- 
fined) ;  final  arrest.  251,  273,  274 
(defined). 

Baker.  George  P.,  160. 

Bale,  80. 

Bandello,  97. 

Battle  of  Alca::ar,  The,  40,  76,  132, 
1.34. 

Belleforest,  115,  130. 

Boisteau.  97. 

Bonduca,  15. 

Brooke.  96,  101. 

Browning.  5. 

Burial  of  Christ,  25. 

Cain.  12. 

Camhyses,   36,    30.    55-57,    80,    206, 

255. 
Cardinal,  43. 

Castle  of  Perseverance.  26-28. 
Catastrophe.    35-42.    186,    187,    220, 

232-34,     236.     237,     244-48,     252, 

253.  261.  263,  272. 
Catiline,  45. 
Chaucer,  35. 
Choephorae,  69. 
Chorus,  44-48,  102-4,  106. 
Cinthlo,  181. 


232, 
253, 
275 

26S. 


245- 
265, 

232 
262^ 

106, 

260. 

154- 
247, 


Climax,  1.35-153.  171.  215,  217, 

2;*..">  ;    in   fallin'j:  action,   227, 

250,  261    (defined),  263,  274, 

(defined)  ;     in   rising  action, 
Coleridge.  5. 

Coiiiimj  of  the  Three  Kinrjs,  10. 
Coriolaiius,  225,  228-30.  2:55-40. 

53.  257.   258,    260,   261,   26.;, 

266,  272.  274,   275. 
Crisis.    112,    135-5::.   220.   222, 

247  ;    mental,  167,   168,  246, 

263. 
Crisis-deed,    119-21,    125.    171, 

198,  246,  252.  250  (defined). 

261.  264,  271. 
Crisis-emphasis.  115-34.  142-45, 

56,   106.  217,   220.    22:\   231, 

258.  265-67.  271.  272. 
Crncijixion,  8,  23. 
CunlifiEe.  43,  44. 

Damon  and  Pythias,  36,  55. 
David  and  Bethsabc,  3S,  40. 
Devices,  theatrical,  200-7,  221. 
Disobedient  Child.  The,  31. 
Doctor  Faustus,  76.  77,   SO,  86,  89, 

178. 
Doomsday,  8. 
Duke  of  Milan,  41. 

Edward  T,  80. 

Edward  IT,  11.   38,   79.   80,   80.  88, 

132,   134.   178. 
Elizabeth.  43. 
Eumenides,  60. 
Everuman,  30,  31. 
Exciting-force.     167-60,     196.     252, 

264-66  (defined). 
Exposition,   175,   264. 

Falling  action.  18.5-87.  210.  211. 
210,  223,  2:i6.  244.  247.  252,  25:?, 
263^  268*  (defined).  271-75. 

Fleay.  118. 

Frevtag.  150.  151.  231-33,  254,  273. 

Furnival,  136. 

Cascoigne,  39. 
a  hosts,  2,  182. 


281 


28^ 


INDEX 


Ghost,  114,  118.  119,  134,  135,  138, 
174,  ISO,  201,  206-10,  213,  214, 
217,  218,  221. 

Oisrnundc  of  Salerno,  55,  99. 

Goethe,  77.  142. 

Gorboduc,  38,  43,  44,  56-58,  63. 

Hamlet,  3,  12,  41,  45,  46,  68,  110, 
117,  118.  133,  135-50,  152-54,  160, 
161,  166.  168.  171-76,  ISO,  182, 
193-95,  207-10.  225,  236,  245, 
257.  258.  260-62.  265-69,  271,  273. 

Henry  V,  44. 

Henry  VI,  85. 

Henslowe,  68. 

Hercules  Furens.  48,  64-66. 

Hercules  (Etaeus,  43,  50.  103. 

Hesitation  motive.  68.   136.   140. 

Hippolytus  (Euripides),  54;  (Sen- 
eca). 47-50.  53-55,  58,   100-6. 

Holinshed,  204. 

Ibsen,  144,  182,  275-77. 

Jeronytno,  68. 

Jew  of  Malta,  The,  78,  80,  86,  132, 

256. 
Jocasta,  39. 
Jonson,  Ben,  44-46.  71. 
Julius   Caesar,   115.    117-28.   130-37, 

161,  168.  172.  193,  194,  201,  207, 

216,    217,    226.    249.    257-60,    262, 

265-67,  269.  271.  272. 

Kant,   222. 

Key-note  scene.  107,  154,  202,  257, 

258  (defined). 
King  John,  81,  179. 
K.vd.  64-66,  89,  136,  176. 
Kynge,  Johan,  80. 

Lamb,  79. 

Lear,  3.  41,  133,  165,  183-88,  192- 
99,  201,  210,  222.  225,  230-32, 
243-45,  253,  259,  260,  264-67,  270- 
73. 

Locrine,  48. 

Lytton,  5. 

Macbeth,  4,  35.  41.  45.  70,  7S,  83, 
165,  200-11,  221-29,  236.  241.  243, 
249,  252-55,  257-59,  263-66,  268- 
71,  274. 

Mactatio  Ahel,  12. 

Magdalene,  13,  17-20. 

Mankind,  26-28. 

Maria  Virgo,  25. 

Marlowe.  9,  44,  46,  71,  72,  76-78, 
88,  92,  97. 

Massacre  of  the  Innocents,  9. 


Massinger,  41,  125. 

Medea,  47-53,   100-2,   123,  142,   143. 

Merchant    of    Venice,    The,    62,    78, 

116. 
Mirror  of  Martyrs,  116. 
Misfortunes  of  Arthur,  The,  39,  44, 

69,  70,   133. 
Morality  plays,  26-34,  255. 
Morality  of  Wisdom  Who  is  Christ, 

A.  28. 
Mot  de  situation.  169,  246. 
Motive.    43-70,    135,    136,    154,    159, 

164,  256. 
Moving-picture  show,  234. 
Miindus  et  Tnfans,  29. 
Mystery  plays,  7-25,  205. 

Naturalists,  276.  277. 
Xice  Wanton,  32. 
North,  115,  138,  232. 
Oblacio  Magorum,  10. 
Octavia,  47,  49,  66.  101. 
Oedipus,  47,  50,  58,  186. 
Othello,  33,  46,   110,  133,   151,   154- 
77,    181-88,    193,    196,    201,    204, 

205,  210.  222.  223,  252.  255,  259, 
260,  263-69,   273,  274. 

Painter,  97. 

Pallace  of  Pleasure,  97. 

Paolo  and  Francesca,  35. 

Peele.  76,  80. 

Pericles,  19,  44. 

Philosophic    idea,    xi,    225-53,    255, 

257,  274,  275. 
Phoenissae,  47. 
Play  witliin  the  play,  140-42. 
Plutarch.  85.  240. 
Pope,  44. 
Portraiture,  257. 
Preston,  80. 

Promos  and  Cassandra,  55. 
Protagonist,  71-84,  187,  188,  190-92, 

196.  197.  238,  239,  244,  246,  248- 

51,  255-57,  265. 

Reaction,  262,  263. 

Realists.  277. 

Remorse  of  Judas,  The,  20-23. 

Resurrection,  8. 

Retributive  idea,  114,  258. 

Return     action.     126,     192-95,     199, 

219,  247.   252. 
Revenge  motive.  46-50.  55,  63.  114- 

135.  136,  249,  250.  265. 
Richard  II,    78,    83-85,    92-95,    120, 

128.  129.  179.  209.  257.  270. 
Richard  III,  78.  81-87.   92,  93.   120, 

128,  134,  149.  150,  161.  166,  178,. 

206.  209.  224,  257  269-70,  273. 
Richelieu,  5. 


INDEX 


283 


Rise.  115-34,  156,  215,  218,  222, 
223,  236,  243,  261-65  (defined), 
272. 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  35,  44.  46,  62, 
84,  06,  9S-1U2,  109-14,  116-19, 
131,  134,  151,  173,  180,  194.  205, 
209,  226,  257,  258,  273. 

Saxo  Grammaticus,  138. 

Scenes,  special,  202-20. 

Schick,  65,  66. 

Schiller,  35. 

Scjanus,  45. 

Second  Accusation  before  Pilate,  20. 

Seneca,  12,  43-50.  86-88,  97,  105, 
124.    138.    173-76,    185,    256,    265. 

Shakespeare.  1,  5.  7,  41.  42.  45,  46, 
62.  68.  76.  78,  80.  82-90,  95-101, 
103-6.  109-11,  113,  122,  124-55, 
159.  161.  164-66.  16S,  170-73, 
175-86.  192-200.  202,  204-9.  211, 
213.  216-18.  221-26,  229-36.  239- 
44.  249,  250,  255-61,  273,  275-77. 

Situations,  tragic,  33. 

Slaughter  of  the  Innocents,  8,  9. 

Soljfman  and  Peraeda,  40. 

Sophocles.  275,   276. 

Spanish  Tragedie,  The,  36,  40,  63- 
Story,  277. 

Structure.  198,  254-278. 

Studley,  55. 

Suhplot,  184. 

Surrey,  255. 

Tamhurlaine,  41,  72-76,  86,  132, 
134,  166,  178,  256. 


Tancred  and  Gismunda,  39,  54.  55, 

58-63,  99,  184,  255. 
I'm  Tragedies  of  Seneca,  47,  64. 
'Ihebais,  47,  66. 
Thorndike,   Ashley   II.,    183. 
Thyestcs,  47,  49.  50,  58,  65. 
Timon  of  Athens,   201.  225,   228-30, 

274,  275. 
Titus  Andronicus,  41. 
1'ourneur,  41. 
Tragedy,  moral    (defined),  226.  2.3(>, 

252 ;      spiritual,     226,     236.     244, 

252. 
Tragic  incident.   125,   154,  170,  220. 

247,    270.    271    (defined).    271-7.!. 
Tragic  situations.  7-34,  256. 
Tragic  turn,  125,  126.  247  (defined), 

272. 
Tragical-comedy,  39. 
Traitor,  The,  43. 
Troades,  47,  50,   10:',. 
Troilus  and  Cressida,  77. 
Troublesome    Reign    of    King   John, 

The,  82. 
Twelfth  Night,  9. 

Underplot,    192-94,   263.   264. 
Unity.  154-75,  183-99.  231,  247,  253, 
263. 

Weaver,   116. 
White  Devil,  The,  62. 
Wilhelm   Meister,  142. 
Wilmot,   99. 
Winter's  Tale,  A,  44. 
Wordsworth,  5. 
Wyatt,  255. 


V 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  Xta\y: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 
Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  ijrior  to  date  dae. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


m-im 


nrrjf-f 


JiQl_5j9§0_!li 


SiECUVED 


.©X. 


TjcrnHSBfr 


CiRCUlATlON  DWr 


J- 


LD2lA-20m-3,'73 
(Q8677sl0)476-A-31 


General  Library 

Utiiversity  of  California 

Berkeley 


\*-  ■  ••    ,' 


w^' 


.    i 


